It's A Sin To Tell A Lie
by FelicityJay
Summary: Weeks of drinking, gambling, and screwing those in power have left the Courier detached from the Wastes. But her sordid dealings mean that soon, not only will she have to face the Mojave, but her dark past as well. Sex/Violence/Trauma, F!CourierXBenny.
1. Disconnection

**Disclaimer: **I don't own a copyright license to Fallout: New Vegas or any of its characters ... unless you count Lola as she's technically a custom character, but oh well. Okay, a heads up: this fic is rated for sexual themes both implicit and explicit, swearing, gore, violence and probably for some more disturbing scenes later on. I'm a big fan of the Black Widow/Cherchez La Femme perks for some reason, so I guess that was the starting point here, therefore, we have a Courier who ... has some less conventional methods of getting what she needs. Let me know what you think! :)

**Chapter One - Disconnection**

How many caps had she gambled away here already? How many had she spent on vodka that came in polished shot glasses and could be knocked back in seconds? By now, it was probably a damn sight more than she had spent on ammunition and weapon repairs put together, and while this was a recent development, it was still a development. It was something that Lola could not ignore any longer – the fact that her stockpile of caps was dwindling. She guessed she was down to no more than a hundred by now, and she had to admit, Lady Luck had played a large part in that.

The woman sighed as she slumped over the roulette table. She had since taken to waving her hand over the numbers at random, thinking that it could not be any worse than if she had intentionally picked a number, and besides ... she had her ways of ensuring the house didn't let her down. Subconsciously, she had resolved only to gamble at The Tops – there was too much at stake to do something like this at Gomorrah, and while her reputation with the White Glove Society was gleaming, she did not think they would take kindly to her way of doing things. So, The Tops it was – bat her eyelashes and she could get a few chips for nothing. Blow the right Chairman and she could get even more, and a few drinks to boot if she put on a private show.

This was the way she did things, whenever and wherever she could. It didn't always work, although this was usually more to do with the person in question than her own shortcomings (or so she liked to believe). Sure, she had learned to get along well with some submachine guns, and even some more heavy artillery, but ammo was expensive, and sex was cheap, for her at least – she knew well that her stockpile of caps had only become a stockpile because she had saved several hundred bullets by screwing rather than shooting.

Even that had gotten stale, though. So, there she remained, gambling in The Tops and listening to the rumors that floated in and out of the casino nightly. Some of them were true, but she didn't like to think too much of them. Work was work, anything she could do to get others on her side and gather up a few caps here and there.

"Can I get you anything, doll?" But of course, the Chairmen knew exactly who she was. How could they not know? Sure enough, one of them with his polished shoes and slicked back hair winked at her. Lola rolled her eyes.

"How's about you get me summore of those chips, hm? Lady Luck ain't getting any tonight, if you get what I mean." Sure enough, a grin flickered across his face, and he leaned in a little closer.

"Let's see if we can't do somethin' about that then, huh baby? Of course, nothing's free ..." She knew this line. 'Nothing's free' – then again, she wondered if he'd know anything about scavenging in the wastes. Even if he had done at one point, he had since forgotten it, that was for sure. The correct phrasing was 'Nothing on The Strip's free'.

"So you know what the usual rates are?"

"Doll, every cat in this place knows your rates."

"Can't say I'm surprised," She muttered, losing another ten chips to the dealer as she did so. "But you're forgetting I ain't the one who asked first this time." A smirk crossed her face as she witnessed the barely visible look of shock that flashed across his face. He shook it off quickly enough, but he was disappointed, no doubt. She could only work well on stubborn targets, however, and he had come across as a little too ... eager.

"Well, you know all you gotta do is ask, baby." He did not seem pleased at all, but his voice barely wavered as he walked away from the table, perhaps hoping that she would change her mind soon. She would, no doubt. She was seriously running low on chips, now, and had not yet turned her attention towards the blackjack table.

She knew her current state of drinking, gambling, screwing and repeating was just to nothing more than boredom, and perhaps even disconnection from the outside. She had probably only been on The Strip for a few weeks, at most, but it felt like a lifetime, and she could not yet bring herself to leave. Furthermore was the point that she had work to do, and she couldn't do it alone; she had been waiting, for the weeks, or the months, or however long she had been there, for news ... oh, the irony that she was intending to conspire with the man who had technically killed her. Lola shrugged it off. Chairman charisma, a smile shot her way, but there was far more to it than that – Yes Man was helpful, but not helpful enough. She didn't trust herself to go through the motions correctly, so the only thing left was to track Benny down.

This was not a mean feat by any chance. Isolating herself in The Tops meant that the only rumors that had really drifted in and out were mostly related to 'someone being allowed inside the Lucky 38' and the 'Great Khans leaving the Mojave.' She supposed people had to hold their tongues in the casino about virtually anything else, but it didn't help when the only news she had gotten for such a long time was news she already knew about.

"Where you going, doll?" The dealers always asked this question when they saw her leaving, and they only got a response if she had had a particularly lucky streak. Tonight was not one such night. She waved a hand listlessly before heading towards the elevator quickly enough, and somehow, she always managed to forget which room actually belonged to her. 'Belonged to' was a stretch, of course. Her rent was paid in much the same way as she paid for anything else, but it was a place to sleep and shower if she wanted; she knew she _could_ have waited it out in the Lucky 38, but somehow, she figured she was going to be a lot less welcome around there sometime soon ...

"Thought you might wanna hear me out before you lay that pretty head of yours down, baby." Lola raised her eyebrow, already in the process of unbuttoning her shirt when she heard him.

"You got news, Swank?" Not like it really mattered. 'Sit around and look pretty', he told her. Damn, she had done a lot more that sitting around and looking pretty, and didn't he know it. Still, she inclined her head towards the room she was about to enter, set herself down on the sofa without caring for her shirt.

"I do. And I think you're gonna dig it."

"Let's hear it, then." That _smirk. _Always the same smirk, and always the same on men when they wanted the same thing.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, pussycat." For a moment, Lola was frozen. It was not like she hadn't heard the term used casually around before, but it still took her back to the note left on the chair the morning after. She bit her lip, knowing what was coming.

"Give me the info, Swank, and I'll give you what you want when you're done." It was so obvious he was not convinced, and yet, she could not bring herself to stand up, to act, rotate her hips to the side a little and pus out her chest. Sometimes, this was all it took – she just didn't feel up to it tonight.

"Doll, you know I can't let you do that. You might just run out on me." He had a point. It showed how little they still trusted her, and who could blame them, really? A little snooping around in the basement had won her the trust of the White Gloves. Some basic scientific knowledge and more underhanded means had gotten her in with the Omertas. The Chairmen, however, were a different matter entirely, and she knew that it would be a long time before she won them over, no matter how many sexual favors and other odd jobs she performed for them. It would take a lot more than that – it would take its time, until she enacted the plan she had become so set on.

"You think I'd do that to you?" In spite of herself, Lola knew that now was the time for it, if ever. The faintest smirk crossed her face, a false look of mischief, and Lola got to her feet, continuing to loosen the buttons on her shirt. _Keep your eyes on the prize _... she thought as she advanced, slowly, with the kind of swagger only Vegas could teach.

"Now, that's more like it," For the time being, at least. She paused with her hand on the button of her jeans, letting it hover there for a while – she knew she was taunting him, and didn't much care. "Keep on going like that, baby, and you can ask me anything you want about this joint." A tempting offer ... _but that's not what I want._ Her hand continued to play around the button, Lola taking more and more steps towards him. Eventually, she hooked her fingers around his leather belt, and used them to pull herself closer.

"So what was that about me running out on you?" She murmured in his ear, purposely breathless, loosening her muscles so that she could move around with ease, snake like. Hers was a venom unlike any others, of course. Not so much poisonous as addictive – most of them wanted more of it time and time again after the first bite. Sometimes, she ran from them, but at other times, it was all she could do to serve them again and again until they had had their fill. She felt his body tense beside her; she always managed to take them by surprise. Swank was no exception.

"I-I didn't mean it, babydoll ... just ... can't be too safe, you know? This info, it's heavy." Ah, how even Swank could not convince her that he was as cool as anything, not while she was pressing herself up against him. She already knew what he was going to say, of course – what she needed were the specifics. Gently, Lola bit her lip, exhaled softly, a warm breath on his neck. Anything she could do to soften the blow she was about to deal.

"You know something about Benny, don't you?" If he had been tense before, it was nothing compared to how he was now. In a split second, Lola's face had split into a wide grin and she had turned away from him, not bothering to put her shirt back on. "Oops. Cat's out the bag now, huh?" As she turned slowly back towards him, she could not quite read his expression. He might have looked dumbfounded, but there was something more than that; a kind of disappointment, and she did not even have to guess why. She had rumbled him. In a way, she almost pitied him for this. She could tell that he was considering the possibility of being unable to have his fun with her tonight, because she had reached the solution far too quickly. "Aw, don't feel so bad about it." Time for her approach. She didn't know exactly _what _he knew about Benny, yet.

"Damn it, doll, you know how to let a guy down." For a second, her eyes flashed – not so much dangerous as suggestive. She had stopped caring about her own degradation, just enough to shake her head slightly and drop to her knees.

"Funny, I though down was exactly where I needed to be," There it was again, his muscles tensed, and this time, it was not his neck she breathed against. She licked her lips as she looked up at him, noticing how he was strangely powerless against her; it was a look she was used to, and was incredible just how quickly she could render a guy vulnerable to her attacks. "So," She started, moving closer, hands playing at his belt again. "Where's Benny?" She started to unfasten his pants, and he did nothing to stop her. Why would he? They never objected. She stopped just as he was expecting he to go on. "Tell me, or you'll be waiting a long time for this." It was clear that he did not want to let her know just yet, fearful that she would take it all and leave him there. She watched for a moment, Swank thinking over his options in his mind, knew that she had to do a little more, in order to win him over ...

"I-I heard ..." He started, just as she leaned in – first contact. "The ... The Legion. C-Cottonwood Cove, or something ... something about a Fort." It might not have seemed like it, but Lola took it all in. She wasn't even concentrating on her job, instead thinking over how it was so close, now. She almost wanted to paraphrase it, to say that triumph was so close she could almost taste it ... but it was clearly not triumph that she could taste.

Only the next few days would tell. She's have to get herself back into fighting shape once again – the Wasteland sure was a harsh mistress, but she didn't have enough weapons to fill an armory stashed away for nothing.


	2. The Mistake

**A/N: **Some action in this chapter, yay. I thought there was the need for a kind of 'gateway' chapter to Lola's return to the Wasteland. Initially, she was going to be fighting Cazadores, but ... well, much is based on my own experience of running into the wrong place at the wrong time on my first playthrough. XD as always, let me know what you think! =)

**Chapter Two – The Mistake**

She glanced casually at the clock in the top corner of her Pip-Boy. Five. She doubted anyone would still be milling around, as the Aces had closed four hours ago, and it tended to be quiet around this time. Maybe she would have to slip on something a little less comfortable, or hell, maybe nobody would care if they saw her edging out of the casino with guns strapped to her thighs and a look that could kill.

All of this was assuming she could remove Swank's arm from about her waist, and right now, that didn't seem like an option. Maybe he knew what she was up to, or maybe he had been able to tell what she would do. Why he cared, she did not know. She hadn't told him, of course, about what Benny had done to warrant her arrival at the Tops in the first place – once she had made up her mind, figured out a way around it, she hadn't needed to. Then again, no; the fact that she had arrived here was testament enough to the fact that she could handle the Wasteland, going back out there was not a problem. But then, maybe he knew that she had gotten soft.

"Got quite the grip on you. Of course, I knew that already …" She murmured lowly as she tried to extricate herself from his embrace, which seemed to be much more a subconscious act than anything else. Eventually, she managed, trying not to make too much noise as she rolled out of the bed, glancing at her clothes and then her day pack. She shrugged; it was too much effort to go to, wearing a dress, when anyone who wanted to find out would know it was her under the disguise anyway. Only she knew what came next. The elevator whirred, a low hum as it took her to the lower floors and she crossed the lobby swiftly, a few heads turning towards her but not enough to cause a stir.

"My weapons." She muttered to the woman at the desk, who looked far beyond exhausted. Ironic that they kept the weapons behind the desk where people cashed their chips.

"Your name, please?" She barely even seemed to be able to say these words.

"Lola." The woman nodded. Perhaps talking was too taxing for her after all, because she slid the equipment across the desk without another word. The heavy artillery had been left up in the Lucky 38, the only place she could keep it without it being confiscated. In here was the stuff she took to using more often – smaller weapons, one-handed guns. She didn't know why these were her preference, perhaps their versatility and weight, but either way, they fitted quite nicely into a single case, in spite of the fact that it was sometimes difficult to get across the desk.

That was it, then. She stepped out of the Tops, knowing that the chairmen wouldn't leave the gates, the safety of Vegas, so once she was beyond those …

It surprised her. Perhaps it was simply because most people were so subdued at this time in the morning that nobody seemed to care much for a gun-toting blonde in tattered jeans. Perhaps it was because they had more important things to do than worry about her. Either way, Lola was surprised at how quickly she reached the other side of Freeside, and looked out across the dim Wastes, not yet illuminated by the sun.

"I guess this is it, then," She couldn't help but notice how her voice wavered as she spoke to herself. She wasn't ready for this, not by any means. She breathed in, slowly, taking in the taste of the Wasteland and frowning – she had forgotten this, too. She didn't like it. It was a mark of just how quickly someone could change as a person, in such a short space of time, and given the right provisions.

She felt strangely alone, too, knowing that some of the friends she had come to know throughout her travels would be waiting for her in her tentative base of operations, the Lucky 38. Of course, it was the only place she could have sent them to, but without them following alongside her, she knew she would be finished off by some cazador, or radscorpion, or even a Deathclaw if she was not careful. More than careful. It was as she considered this that she bent down to check her case, not in case they had taken something from her – she was sure that they knew by now it was not advisable – but to ensure she had enough ammunition, not that she wanted to have to use it. She glanced blankly down at the submachine guns, unable to feel a burgeoning sense of excitement as she took them out and strapped them about her waist.

"How unlucky can one gal _really _be?" She whispered, hoping that even if her luck was so terrible, she might be granted some reprieve, sometime soon. She shook her head, the first step into the wilderness being the hardest to take – after that, all she had to do was run.

* * *

Hours later, Lola recalled how she had convinced herself that all she had had to do was run. Well, she had been running for a while, all right, and now, she had run directly into … well, not so much run directly into as made sure she had hidden a good distance away once she had seen the Deathclaws.

"Fuck." She muttered to herself as she poked her head around the side of the boulder, to check the relative location of the beasts. The good news was that they had not yet spotted her. The bad news was that they looked to be blind, and this was not at all good news for a woman who stunk of cheap Vegas perfume right about now.

Lola rifled through her case, trying not to make too much noise, but failing as her breathing became shallow, desperate. She was _sure_ she had the alien device in here somewhere, and granted, she was low on power cells, but she thought she had enough to deal with them. She had only tried using it once before, recalled how she had accidentally reduced a harmless Mr. Handy robot to ash before realising how dangerous the device well and truly was.

This situation, however, called for it. Eventually, her hand found the barrel and she pulled the gun out, blue liquid, or liquid energy, or something, glowing brightly. She had to remind herself to stay calm, but had to admit that this was no mean feat, not when fear of the creatures had already gripped her. Most of this, she knew, was built more upon Wasteland legends than anything else, but what if … just what _if_ one of those razor sharp claws managed to rip her arm off? Or her leg? Or, even worse, her head?

"Keep it together." She whispered, slowly rising to her feet and stepping precariously around the boulder. Not too close … aim … she closed one eye and crouched in an attempt to steady herself, but it was no use, her arms were still shaking violently; target …

She pulled the trigger once, twice, and immediately, two shots of the blue energy burst from the barrel of the blaster. This was it, now, while the blind Deathclaws had not seen one amongst their ranks getting hit, square in the scaly chest by strange light, they had certainly sensed it, and the direction it had come from. While Lola knew that she should have been elated at the sight of the Deathclaw disintegrating, all she could really think about were the other six that were now headed in her general direction. No time to aim. Not even enough time to point at each in turn because they would reach her, so instead, she started pulling the trigger, doing her best to point it where she thought they would attack from, but she could not be so sure …

The first, the leader, the one who had started the chase and had been closest to her disintegrated in much the same fashion as his predecessor. She aimed to the right and the left, and while the one on the left fell, curled back and hit the floor with something that sounded vaguely like a growl, the one to the right staggered only a little before …

"Shit, fuck, damn it." Lola bit down, hard, on her lip as the claw whipped at her leg, the flesh visible through the hole in her jeans now turning a bright red. It had only just caught her, and she knew that she would have been ripped apart had it been any closer, but she had pulled the trigger that moment, hitting the Deathclaw that had almost taken her leg off in the head.

Three more, gaining on her, now, not quite as close as the ones before, but far too close for comfort. She winced, closing her eyes firmly in on themselves against the pain before raising the weapon once more. It was all she could do to pull the trigger, haphazard shots of blue energy, perhaps hitting their target, perhaps not, she didn't even know. She would know, possibly, when several claws ripped her apart all at once. She opened her eyes a sliver, barely wanting to, watched as another Deathclaw bowled over backwards, but that did not help with the other two ...

It hurt to run. Lola only found this out once she tore around the other side of the boulder in an attempt to put some distance between herself and the remaining two Deathclaws, to no avail The things were too damn fast, and while she had managed to kill four of them already, she knew that she would never have been able to without the help of the alien blaster. And damn, she was running out of shots.

She did not have time to crouch, close one eye and steady her aim, this time. She sent two shots at the Deathclaw to her right, which was closer to the one on her left this time, but moved on too quickly to see whether or not it had killed it. No claws. Perhaps she had crippled its leg. She aimed for the other Deathclaw's head this time, thinking it was no use to destroy its sight – the creature was already blind. Forever moving backwards, she did not stop shooting, damn what it did to the cells she had, the dwindling, irreplaceable ammunition. She felt head head hit against something hard, immediately starting to ache, and she was dizzied. She wanted to slide down whatever it was she had just run into. Her finger impulsively pulled on the trigger until the familiar warmth signalling a shot headed towards the enemy was long gone, and she knew she was out of ammunition. Lola closed her eyes again. She waited for the blow that would exact her fate.

It never came.

She opened her eyes a fraction, only to see one of the Deathclaws lying a short distance away from her, its leg torn off and bleeding profusely. The other, like two before it, had been reduced to nothing but ash.

"Damn you, Benny ..." She muttered to herself, although her face split into a grin of relief. Maybe she had not gotten as soft as she thought she had. Still, it had been close, and the throbbing pain in her leg reassured her of this; slowly, she slid down the hard surface she had run backwards into, and tore open her day back, rifling through it for what she knew was in there. "Gotcha," She muttered as she pulled out a bottle of vodka, clear contents swilling around inside the glass. "Shame. Was looking forward to this later on tonight." She shrugged, voice breathy as she stretched her injured leg out in front of her. Reaching back into the bag with her free hand and pulling out some strips of cloth. Not much, but it would have to do. She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to yell out in pain as she poured the vodka on her wound, binding it quickly with the cloth. Not pleasant. Not at all the end, though. Once she had replaced the vodka, she pulled out a Stimpak, needle point glinting at her in the sunlight as she plunged the tip into her thigh.

She remained there for a moment. It was a shame, really, that she could not seem to adapt to her surroundings yet, and perhaps, secretly, she had missed some of it. She glanced down at the pale pink already seeping through the cloth and was instantly reminded of why she had become so familiar with The Strip in the first place.


	3. Something's Gotta Give

**A/N: **Longer chapter this time ... apologies if it goes on for a bit too long. Cutting more to the chase, now, though, because there's only so much filler I can write, and next chapter looks to be heavily dialog orientated. xD – also, I apologize if some of the dialogue between Caesar and Lola derails a little here, I thought it would be a bit trivial going through the in-game speech when the focus isn't ... that. xD

**Chapter Three – Something's Gotta Give**

She breathed in and out deeply, watching from the Overlook. This was it. She had not thought to strap any kind of sniper rifle to her back, but then again, she did not really want to shoot her way out of this just yet.

She clasped her free hand around her neck, checking for the small coin attached to the chain. The mark. Good, it was still there. She took one more deep breath before turning, making her way down the slope whilst trying to salvage her injured leg a little. She was only afraid because she knew what she was intending to do once she got to the Fort, all for a guy who had shot her in the head, but she had her reasons, and that was justification enough. That, and she knew that the Legion did to women. She could place her hatred for it directly, but that was the past, and if she thought about it now, she would fail before she had even started.

"I-" She stopped, dead, instead holding out the gold coin upon its thin chain, offering the mark as her passport. The guard said nothing, simply nodded, and from there, she headed directly to the docks.

"Are you ready to make the trip to Fortification Hill?" It was clear that the man, Lucullus? Had that been the name she had been told? It didn't matter. It was clear that had not asked many outsiders this question, but he had probably had time enough to ask any other member of The Legion.

"I am." It was clear from her look of disdain, however, that she was not. Best not to think about what awaited her at the other end. Shaking, she stepped onto the raft, seating herself and stretching her wounded leg out in front of her as she did so. The pain was nothing new. It sure was irritating, though.

"The Mojave is a dangerous place. Especially for a woman." Of course she had not failed to notice the Lucullus' eyes falling upon the roughly bandaged wound. A grim smirk fell upon her face, a small way to disguise her anger at the comment.

"I seemed to have fared well, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed," There was something understandably hesitant about his tone. "It is unusual. Very unusual." Lola wanted to grimace, to inform him that they had gravely underestimated her, but she did not. Instead, she looked quietly up at the faded sky, orange as the sun set, blue as night fell. It all felt the same when the head was not baking the Mojave, distinctly colder than it was during the day. Rock faces rose up out of the sand and water on both side, towering over them and trapping her where she was. She resented the sensation.

She could feel his eyes upon her and noted that the rumors were true, but then again, she had already known this much when she had set out. Women were not human in the eyes of the Legion, simply tools, and in spite of her reputation, she was no exception. It did not help that she kept a less than moderate degree of her cleavage on show at all times, usually for her own agenda, but not this time ...

* * *

"We're here." Perhaps because they had been traveling by the river, or more likely because she had already walked so far and was dreading the encounter, the journey had passed surprisingly quickly. She could not recall being so anxious, save, maybe, for when she had been kneeling atop the hill, looking out over New Vegas, knowing that it would likely be the last thing she ever saw. Save for when ... when the intruder had dragged her by her wrist from her room, that night, when she was ten. She could barely move from the raft, and did so slowly, as though she had been weighed down by equipment. This was it.

She nodded, slowly and solemnly as she stepped onto the bank, unable to hear anything – it all sounded as though she was surrounded by water, submerged and drowning. There was a haze that fell across everything in front of her, her head pounding, buzzing like she had taken too much Med-X. She had only felt something like this before, and knew what to call it – it was fear. Yet, somehow, the prospect of being shot in the head by a dozen or so heavily armed Praetorians made her dealings with Benny seem suddenly insignificant.

"Strip'll save me." She whispered, holding the mark between her middle and fore fingers as the guards lowered the drawbridge. The safety of The Strip would be all hers, soon. And then ... then ...

Caesar's tent was obvious, even from miles off, so from where she was standing, it was obtrusive, she could not ignore it. It was not the exterior that put her on edge, however. It was what was coming once she was inside. Her fingers continued to play at the chain around her neck as she stared directly ahead, ignoring everyone around her – she had neither the time nor the desire to talk to them. Maybe she would be able to get away clean, however, Supposing Benny didn't manage to mess things up ...

Lola stood, staring at the tent flap for a while. In a moment. In a moment, she would do it. She edged forward a little and ...

She had to admit, Caesar looked a lot less intimidating than she had been led to believe. While his guard stood around with their hair spiked and eyes hidden by shades, there was ... well, sure he was burly and built like someone who had seen battle, lounging around on some fancy animal hide she had never seen before, but there was something resolutely calm about him. She was sure he had a temper, this was what was known as a false sense of security of course, but he hid this well. It didn't make him any less intimidating, though. Ironically, he was exactly the kind of guy she took so often to seducing – they alone only allowed their weaknesses to show when pounding into a woman, especially one who worked her way into their ranks rather than being enslaved.

Her eyes moved to the side – there was no mistaking that suit. She had come to know it unexpectedly well, and associated it with both pain and pleasure. Here, however, Benny had lost much of his usual swagger and looked lost, anxious, fearing for his life. Not surprising, given who was guarding him.

"You've arrived, then?" Caesar's voice took her by surprise. Again, there was something oddly calming about it – depth, maybe. She was left in no doubt he could show brutality, however.

"As you requested." She nodded, and did not fail to notice the guards looking her up and down all the while. Perhaps she should have worn something more modest after all.

"Then I take it you know what you're here for?"

"I do." It was not exactly as though she was going to exact what he assumed. If he saw it cross her face, he ignored it completely, working under the idea that she would follow him without question, out of fear. She was not so stupid. Once she had served her purpose, she would be enslaved, and she was not about to let that happen. No, she had her reasons for being here.

"Then you are prepared to serve the Legion unquestioningly?" She paused. No ... no, she would never serve the Legion, but had to consider this. Stick to the plan. Talk, talk her way out of it. Work under the guise that she would deal with Benny in her own way – in a sense, she was going to – then make a break for it. Easier said than done, perhaps, but she ... she had guns. Lola breathed in deeply.

"I will do all that I can." She did not want to repeat his request, because it was not true. Tiptoeing around the truth was safer, in this instance, than telling a lie. It was the only way she would be secure enough to do what she needed to do next. She blinked as Caesar held up a gleaming object between two fingers, and Lola did not have to guess what it was.

"You know what this is?"

"How could I forget?" Luckily, he had seen this as more of a quip than an insult to his intelligence. The knot in Lola's chest eased a little, although she suspected it also had something to do with the fact that she was necessary.

"And you know what it does?"

"I know that it's important," Caesar nodded, seemingly taking on board her comment. It was probably more convenient that she did not know, although this time, she had not been exactly truthful. Taking her chances, she shot a look over at Benny, trying to assure him she knew, really, what the Chip was capable of. "Do I get to deal with Benny first, though?" It was a rash decision, and quite the gamble, but she was willing to take it. All she had to do was take down those inside the tent, and then they were home free – assuming they could avoid bullets on their way out. Assuming Benny could swim. Assuming ... damn, and she had thought she had planned it out well. Regardless of her sudden lapse in judgment, Caesar seemed unconcerned, simply inclining his head in Benny's direction.

"He already knows that you are to choose how he dies." She tried not to look alarmed by this, but then again, it was not as though she hadn't expected it all along. Had he been lounging around next to Caesar's throne it would have been a different story, but seeing as how he was tied up, it only made sense for them to be keeping him as a hostage. Without another word, she turned towards him, glaring convincingly, in spite of her true motives. Without alerting him, she sent her fist directly at the man in the checkered suit, and did not ignore the look of panic in his eyes. Once she was close enough that she would not be heard by the Praetorians, she bent down next to him.

"I'm getting you out of here. Don't ask, follow me and you might live." She knew she sounded much more cryptic than she needed to be. She had to be careful, though.

"Pussycat, ain't this platinum?" Just what she had been afraid of. Thinking on her feet, Lola winced, kneeling opposite him and hoping her expression would do the talking.

"Caesar said I get to decide how you die." Apparently not. Fear flitted across his face once again but this time, she could not shake her head. The irony was almost too much to bear, but he obviously mistook the way in which her lips twitched for a far different expression.

"Well, try not to smile so wide, baby, you might break your mouth." She leaned in again, hand twitching towards her belt in the hope it would look convincing – like she was about to slit his throat.

"I'm not going to kill you. But we're going to have one hell of a fight on our hands. Try not to die, I don't much like the idea of being sold off as a slave," She didn't have time to register his expression as she fumbled around, making for her gun with her free hand. The other still held tightly onto the knife, a living symbol of freedom, in spite of her lack of ability at close range. Without another word, she slit the ropes binding his wrists together, inclined her head a fraction, reminding him not to move just yet. "What are my options?" She called, raising her voice so that they could hear her and stepping back, watching as Benny looked up, pleading with her. Good. He was making it convincing this time.

"Crucifixion, or a fight to the death." It was not Caesar who spoke, this time. She didn't know the name of the disembodied voice, so she simply took it on board, unsure of whether or not to pick an option in favor of just getting the hell out of there.

Before she could do anything more, she felt the shot zip past her ear. So they knew. They knew, and soon, she would be surrounded, and quite possibly beaten to death.

"Still not Deathclaws, though." She whispered to herself, signaling to Benny to get up, unsure of whether or not he saw her as she turned on her heel, whipping two submachine guns out. Not exactly conventional, not exactly practical, but it was all she could do to spray the bullets everywhere she could, hoping that they hit their targets. It was not as though her mind worked over it too slowly to think to lure them out of the tent ... but she had seen the sheer amount of guards, some competent, some seemingly incompetent, outside.

She felt something hit her shoulder but did not stop to check it as she edged backwards, thinking to perch herself on the desk behind her. _Nice move, trapping yourself ... _no, no, she could get out of this. Of course she could. Still, she continued to hammer her fingers down upon the trigger, not looking to see what Benny was doing, reloading the magazine as it ran out and fell to the floor. She was certainly glad that she had purchased the extended mags, now, although what she really needed were _infinite_ ones.

"Do _not_ head outside," She called out, just in case, knowing who it was directed at. She assumed he had more sense than that anyway. She felt something heavy hit her in the calf and buckled – the same leg as the Deathclaw had hit. What were the odds? "Bastards." An exclamation of pain rather than anything else, but it did not relieve anything. After filling two Praetorian guards with holes, she understood the futility of it. Time to bring out the big guns.

The so called big gun was, of course, not so big, but sure was powerful. She had used it on Deathclaws, which were actually slightly more deadly than these guards, even while blind; but they had not so much swarmed her as come running after her. She felt the shot leave the barrel, warming her hand before she witnessed it, blindly pulling the trigger like she was used to and taking it upon herself to assume that she had reduced some guards to ash. Well ... one guard. No time to feel disappointed, though; she felt something heavy and metallic collide with her stomach and was sent backwards into the fabric walls of the tent, crashing to the ground and spitting blood.

They would see her if she tried to crawl out from where she was. They would get her if she stood. Wincing, trying to ignore the pain in her abdomen and musing that they had really got her good that time, Lola rolled onto her side, aiming for the legs. Cripple the legs, and they would not be able to swarm quite so badly.

One fell. She saw him as his calves disintegrated, blood flowing everywhere as he rolled about, presumably in pain, trying in vain to reach for his dagger so he could end it all. Another staggered backwards, the one with the Power Fist – she knew because she saw it drop limply to his side as he did his best to recover. A gunshot, and the fist crashed to the ground alongside its owner, a strangely familiar kind of wound to the side of his head, though his eyes were blank, even behind his shades.

"Thanks, Ben-man ..." She whispered to herself, knowing instantly who had fired the pistol. Who else could it have been? Not like he was going to come to her rescue so soon, though – perhaps he had just gotten scared.

Her heart rose up into her throat. She knew that they would realize where the shots were coming from sooner or later, and unfortunately for her, it certainly seemed like it would be sooner. He was snarling, accompanied by a hound although it was difficult to tell the difference. Lola hesitated. It was not pity or any kind of recognition that caused it, but she paused because she seemed to have forgotten, in the space of all but a moment, how to pull the trigger. The dog barked, and she could see the saliva dripping from its sharpened teeth, its breath rancid, sickening. She did not want this to be the last thing she ever witnessed, but ... why? Why wasn't she firing?

Just as its jaws came at her, the dog whimpered in pain and collapsed to the ground, brain dripping weakly from the gunshot wound in its head. Maybe it had been the shock that had caused her to fire at the guard and blind him. He snatched for her, but seemed to have momentarily forgotten his pain – seconds later, he fell back, howling like the dog, and Lola's second shot hit him square in the chest. She pulled again, hoping to hit the man stationed behind him. Her eyes grew wide. _Not now. Please not now._

The gun was sure as hell empty, though, and she did not think to keep it as she tossed it aside. Where the hell was she supposed to get more Alien power cells from anyways? She fumbled around at her belt for a moment, wanting to get up, but feeling it was ... well, somewhat safer under here. Hoping she had more 9mm bullets than she had 10mm ones, she aimed, knowing she would have to empty the entire clip and then some in order to beat these guys. Or at least get out of there alive.

She felt the hand upon her wrist before she saw the suit. No ... no, he couldn't take her now, she still had to finish the job. Kill Caesar, and finish the job. For some reason, she felt a pang of regret at this that she could not place – why pity the man who had been responsible for so much death and destruction in the West already? He was dragging her out from under there, now. So that was it, was it? He was going to use her as a human shield – why else would he be doing it?

She kept her hand on the trigger until the point that she had to change the magazine, this time regretting not upgrading this submachine gun. She heard the gunshots over her shoulder, wondered if Benny really knew what he was doing because she did not take to the thought of having to wait for her arm to heal before getting back to business. Worse still, he might end up shooting her in the head, again, though at least this time it would be an accident. Small comfort.

One more guard dropped, and that was enough. She glanced around, her vision obscured by the way in which she was rushing, her head working faster than her body, her mind trying to calculate if it ... yes. They couldn't spare any more time.

"We're splitting." She called back to Benny, not caring if she had forgotten a few small things here and there. Her day pack remained where it was, and that was all that mattered. She noticed herself grasping the back of his suit rather than his arm as Caesar charged for them, knocking the remaining two guards to the side. She recognized the one, Vulpes or something, but didn't have time to register it. Hopefully, the delay between the alerts being sounded and their departure from the tent would give them a small enough reprieve so that they could escape and get a decent distance away. Unfortunately, they were still in Legion territory.

Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion. Guards and Legionaries turned their heads to better understand why they were running at such a pace, and slaves ducked out of the way, so as not to get caught in the crossfire. Bullets ruffled her hair, and she knew they were coming, but the drawbridge was still open before those guarding it had time to realize what was going on. Maybe her luck was changing after all.

"The river." She almost choked, struggling to breathe against the knives at her chest. Damn, she hoped he could swim. Yeah. Sure he could. What kind of a fink couldn't swim, especially out here? And she knew the Tops had a pool ...

The slope of the hill had aided in their getaway, she registered this afterwards. They had gathered speed as they had dashed towards the river, and she recalled praying, yes _praying_ that there would be no Lakelurks, and they had been answered, but not before their bodies had hit the cool surface of the water. It had stung ... they had made it a way up river, back towards the North, and she vaguely recalled being dragged out again, losing consciousness on the bank.


	4. Goddamn Broad

**Chapter Four – Goddamn Broad**

"You've been out cold for a while, doll." He muttered casually as the woman roused. No, maybe it had not been necessary for him to drag her out of Lake Mead, and no, he had not been concerned so much for her welfare as he was curious as to whether or not she had it. Whether or not she had answers. That, and it would have been nice to know exactly why she had bothered saving him at all.

"We got away, right?" He almost laughed at the comment. Almost. There was something grim about the situation, though, in that they had not so much escaped as barely escaped with their lives. He couldn't help his eyes moving across her figure as she glanced down and noticed ... surprise, then nothing. He almost hated the coolness in her expression, knowing that it had not been necessary for him to remove her clothing, spread it out on the ground in the hope that it would dry. When she turned to him, he almost wanted to back away. "So, you like 'em comatose, now? No wonder you shot me." Damn it, of course she would twist it into something worse than it actually was, but it still looked pretty bad ... he struggled to find words, partly because the fact that she was toying with him was so overwhelmingly clear, but mainly because she didn't seem to be able to help moving in a suggestive manner, even after what she had been through.

"Pussycat, you know it ain't like that-"

"Mojave's hot as hell. You didn't need to take my clothes to get 'em dry." Smart, too, though he'd never let on. She tried to downplay it, she'd tried it on multiple occasions, but it just didn't seem to work out for her. He did his best not to look guilty – that was the last thing he needed – and for some reason, his face must have come out looking a little crooked. What a shame. He could have held this over her in one way or another. "Just admiring my 'charlies' were ya?" Well ... there was that, too. But she wasn't as innocent as she made herself out to be.

"You wouldn't mind if I was. Like I said, baby, there's quins and then there's ... you." Well, that caught her, but she didn't seem to care much. Damn, did everything roll so easily off this broad's back? If that was the case, maybe they weren't so different after all, but he could not allow himself to think that. That was the first stage to some kind of bizarre acceptance of the fact that she had no ulterior motives, and that did not fit, not in the slightest. She looked thoughtful, for a second, bowed lips still fixated into some kind of lustful pout even when she was least conscious of it. Even with her hair, which he strongly suspected was bleached with Abraxo Cleaner, falling roughly into her face, the band that usually held it in place having snapped, she could not look anything less than desirable. Part of her trick, no doubt. He had seen the small pouch attached to the inside of her panties, noted that he had been lucky to get away alive the first time.

"Guess you know by now I wasn't just looking for a fling, then, huh?"

"Damn, don't I know it." He muttered darkly, not even having to think about that. Yeah, sure, he should probably have read the signs before she started stripping in his suite rather than after, but what could he have done? Considering she had been shot in the head, buried in a shallow grave and conditioned all this way by the Mojave, she could have done a hell of a lot worse for herself. Instead, she had showed up with her skin somewhat clean, and clear of any injuries other than the one he had inflicted, wearing that ... _that_ dress. She was brazen. Apart from the dames employed to do that from Gomorrah, he didn't know many girls who could idly wander along the strip with little more than black lace covering their charlies.

"Shame neither of us got what we wanted in the end, then." But he had gotten ... oh, she wasn't talking about that. He was surprised by jut how bitter she looked, knees hugged up to her chest, staring down at the hard, dusty ground as though she wished it nothing but death. She was right about that, too, of course. He didn't need to ask what she was going on about, because he hadn't managed to nab the Chip, either – who was he kidding? If he couldn't kill a half conscious broad, how was he supposed to kill Caesar? He left that up to her, but she had seemed a little more than just preoccupied ... "Although ..." He arched his brow, utterly confused, but appreciative of the way she had so suddenly knelt, rifling through the bag she had packed. She didn't seem at all conscious of him ... admiring her figure, and damn was it a fine figure to admire. Something told him that she had not always been a courier. She was rougher around the edges than some gals, but nowhere near enough to be a heartless mercenary, and this, it seemed, was the fundamental difference that had gotten her so far. Gotta break a few eggs, and all that ...

"He didn't just slip it in there, baby," He watched her pause, grinned at what he had said, and then flicked open his lighter, without a cigarette in hand. Habitual, maybe. Like the desert wasn't hot enough without him constantly flicking that small flame on, off, on again.

"Not looking for the Chip," She retorted, not that he had expected her to be looking for it in the first place. Still a nice view, though. Strangely enough, Benny found that his eyes were focused more on the box in the woman's hand than anything else as she pulled it out of the bag, thinking that perhaps there was a chance of there being something vital in there, without her knowing it. What was actually in the box, at first, looked a little disappointing as she held it between her forefinger and middle finger, the rust not allowing it to reflect any sunlight. She looked impassive. "Snatched this up when I was in the old H&H Tools building before a Protectron crippled me – don't ask," She explained casually, and this was really all he needed to know. "Anyways, you know what old office buildings are … ah, wait, you don't. Well, turns out, before the War people used to collect bottle caps, too, but they probably didn't use them to pay for anything. I thought I'd check out some of the terminals – found some interesting mail on there – and the one that I had to hack had the name House up on the screen …" Benny's eyes widened. She brought the key card tantalizingly close to his face, and he was able to make out the words 'Lucky 38', before she moved away. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this kind of thing, would you?"

"Baby, this is eighteen karat!" He wasn't half as exited as he sounded, but it was a start. "How'd you know?"

"Know what?" This was even better. The broad had no idea what the key card did, though come to think of it, he wasn't so sure either, but if it said Lucky 38, it must have something to do with House. Maybe he had some weapons stashed away in that tower of his, or maybe it granted access to his secret control room. He didn't even bother questioning why she had found it in the H&H Tools building, of all places. He toyed with the idea of not telling her, thinking that it had to be something good, but … goddamn broad, she was the only one allowed inside the Lucky 38, or at least the only person he was aware of.

"It's gotta be House's if it says Lucky 38. But … hey, doll, how about I keep that all locked up until we get back to The Strip?" he had not failed to notice the expression on her face every time she moved, and yet she got to her feet with surprising speed, backing away, sun baking her bare skin.

"That would just make everything pointless, huh? You're coming with me whether you like it or not, but I'm not giving you _anything_, hear? Not until we're there," He had to do a double take to see it. Was she really slipping the key card into … sure as spades were spades she was. Then again, it wasn't like her panties would stop him. "Then we'll see. But I think it's a safer bet for me to keep this right here for now – and believe me, I'll know it when you try and get in 'em, and we both know you will." Well, he had to admit she had him there. His face fell as he watched her stepping into her jeans, having not noticed the gash across the top of her thigh until now, but she seemed to know him better than he could explain. It was more than a little unnerving. He couldn't stop himself, though. His eyes were drawn to the gash, red across her otherwise pale leg.

"How'd you do that, baby?" She almost smirked at the question, fastening up her plaid shirt. Good. She didn't object to him asking.

"Deathclaw almost ripped my leg off," It was the first time her face had broken into a genuine grin, though he hesitated, part of him stunned by it, part of him trying to piece together how, in all of the wide Wastes, she had managed to run into a Deathclaw. They weren't exactly hard to spot. "Well, that's … an exaggeration, but it still left me with a nice little souvenir. I went the wrong way, trying to be all smart and take a shortcut, and forgot that those things have taken a liking to a couple of train stations not far from here." That explained it a little better but … it was pointless asking how she had escaped with her life, really, considering that she had recently fought most of Caesar's guard and survived a gunshot to the head. She had a secret weapon, no doubt, and one that House had probably equipped her with. That was the only thing that seemed to make any sense whatsoever.

Eventually, silence fell, or whatever it could be called. The Wastes didn't allow for silence so much as an awkwardness that had nothing to do with the fact that his eyes kept flickering to the zipper of her jeans every so often. Neither of them mistook the glances for ones of lust, both knowing exactly what was there. Of all things, of all places … he tipped his head back, stared up at the sky for a moment then out across the water. He couldn't suppress a small shudder that completely knocked off his composure.

"How long d'you think it'll take them to track us down?" He said nothing. Sure, he was mathematical when it came to calculating odds and earnings, but he couldn't say, and if she couldn't either, then they seemed to be a little screwed. "Soon then?" He noted how she had collected most of the things she had taken out of the pack, now, so she must have been preparing. Not for an attack, perhaps, but just to leave.

"Not that I'm agreeing with you or anything, pussycat," He started, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off any dirt that might have started clinging to it. "But I'd say that they're not far off, and those cats seemed pretty hacked to me, dig?" She didn't respond. He could almost see what was going to happen before it did, however – the woman tried to sling the day pack onto her back, stumbled forward and fell to her knees. For a fraction of a second, he could have sworn he felt himself lurching, too, so that he could grab her waist or something before she fell. Only for a fraction of a second, though, and not before she had actually fallen.

"Sure, don't help me out, here," It came out as more of a whimper. His eyes widened a little, but she simply slung the bag to the ground, unzipping it and taking out a box with a green cross marked on the lid. He wanted to look away as she plunged the syringe into her arm, unsure of what was in that vial, feeling almost as though it was a private thing, something he should not intrude upon. Where had that come from? Sure as anything, though, she was soon back up on her feet, stumbled a little, but she was up. Resilient. Of course, he had known that the moment she had walked back into the Tops. "Besides, that didn't happen. Let's make tracks."

"Whatever you say, pussycat." He didn't care for the fact that he was the one following her, not the other way around. His turn would come, he knew it – Lady Luck hadn't exactly been shining down on him as of late, but that just made him even more sure of the fact that she would have to start shining, and soon. The blonde would come round, too, supposing he could twist the odds in his favor a little more … but that was supposing the goddamn broad didn't kill him, first.


	5. Balance of Power, I

**A/N: **Heads up! Some sex nearer the end of this chapter, though the last time I wrote anything graphic was ... about 3 months ago, actually. o_o;; well, we'll see how it turns out, but ... yeah. Just a heads up. =)

**Chapter Five – Balance of Power, I**

"Let's get this straight," She leaned across the counter, well aware that his eyes would be drawn to ... well, where else would they be? Not yet, though. Business first. The rest could wait. "I've lied, cheated, stolen, killed and more importantly, I've fucked my way to where I am. So, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not about to drop everything at your feet right about now." For some reason, he seemed to take it, although she was sure she saw it ticking over in his mind. He was just working out the odds. On one hand, here she was wrapped in nothing but a towel, in his suite, his domain, and she had had to turn in her weapons. On the other, she was the only person allowed inside the Lucky 38, with the exception of her companions, and even they were not allowed up into the Penthouse.

"Pussycat," He smirked at her, and for the first time since she had rescued him, she saw his suave composure returning. Typical. Of all times for him to start thinking he had the upper hand again, it was when she was practically defenseless. "You're forgetting that this is as much my scene as it is yours." True … lying to the Great Khans about their pay, cheated Mr. House, or so she assumed, and almost killed her before stealing the Platinum Chip. As for the fucking … it was still her forte.

"You're right," The words burned like cheap liquor. "This, the Tops, this is your empire. Lucky for me, then, that there's a lot more to it than that." She almost wanted him to question where she had gone when she ducked behind the counter, before withdrawing a pack of cards, roughly tied with string. She placed the deck on the table, and, having forgotten to sort it into suits, began picking out cards from the deck and placing them face up on the counter, until she had found what she wanted.

"I think this is more than a game of blackjack is gonna fix, doll." She shook her head, however, still appearing to deal each card in turn, but upon closer inspection, she was actually sorting them, placing the clubs nearest the left of the counter, and the diamonds nearest the right. She spread them out according to their number, with the King of Clubs and the Ace above the rest, strangely enough omitting the Queen, and doing the same with the diamonds. In the center of this bizarre set, she simply placed the Ace of Spades, the unused cards sitting in their deck beside her left elbow, aside from two which were lying face down.

"There are three things we need to deal with," She began, pointing to the cards she had laid out in turn, the smallest of smirks on her face. Benny looked bemused again, totally unable to gage what she was going to do next. "The Legion," She pointed to the clubs. "The New California Republic," She pointed to the diamonds. "And Mr. House," She didn't need to point to the Ace of Spades, she knew, but did it for effect. "Oh, and then there's us. You," This time, she picked one of the two cards she had placed face down up. The Joker – the Wild Card. He didn't look affronted, simply questioning. It wasn't really a strange coincidence that she had chosen the Joker to represent him, but her reasons were at least a little superficial. "And me," This time, she picked the second card, revealing the Queen of Hearts. She expected the quip, waited for it, even.

"Now, now, baby, don't go getting ahead of yourself." He grinned, and she was tempted to drop the towel. _Business first, though … _

"They don't do the card I'd use to represent myself, strangely enough. So Queen of Hearts will have to do. Anyways," She placed the two cards beneath the Ace of Spades. "First, we have to get rid of House, but we can't do that without the Chip, so really, our first target is Caesar," She placed two fingers on the King of Clubs and slid it towards Benny, leaving him to watch as it fell off the opposite edge of the counter. "But that doesn't mean the Legion's gone even if we do deal with him. See the Ace?" He nodded, and she moved the ace above the clubs, where the King had been. "I'd be willing to place a bet of any kind on Lanius being harder to get rid of than Caesar. We want to avoid that for now, so either I storm the fort with some … friends of mine and pray that Lanius doesn't hear about it, or we find a way of doing it quietly," She did not mistake the look on his face. He was wondering why she kept saying 'we', under the assumption that he was in it as much as she was. But he didn't really have a choice. "What?" He was so obviously trying to hide it, it was both painful to watch, and comical at the same time.

"Nothing, baby doll, it's just … I'm wondering how much of this is 'we'." She couldn't resist grinning, this time … how much of the whole thing was them in it together? Most, with the provision of access and location.

"As much as we can handle. You've got the brains, and I've got the breasts, shall we say," Of course, that was not it at all, but it sure shut him up, leaving her to turn her attention towards the Ace of Spades. "Now … House. I think that once we're in, it should be plain sailing. So, assuming we get Caesar out of the way, House," She flicked the card off the counter, just as she had done with the King of Clubs. "Shouldn't be a problem. That just leaves the NCR. I really don't want to make enemies out of them, but I will if I have to … I'm thinking I can do a little bargaining around here, though. I know how you feel about that," She had watched him raise an eyebrow, questioning her motives on this front. "But the Legion can have their land. The NCR won't get what they want out of Vegas, but I can get what we need out of them. Sure, by the time we finish off House we'll have an arsenal of Securitrons at our disposal, but the more the merrier, huh?" She could see clearly that he wasn't convinced ... but that just meant that she would have to work harder to convince him once and for all. Her eyes lingered on the playing cards she had set out on the counter for a moment, before she slowly made her way around to the other side, setting herself down upon the sofa. "At the end of the day, I'd rather have the NCR on our side than the Legion, and ... I wouldn't exactly say we're in their good books, as it is. But ... Ben-man, you've been kind of quiet," If there was a time for it, it was now. Her hand played at the hem of the towel, and she didn't mistake his staring for anything else this time ... she had nothing else on her person, after all. "So do I have you convinced, or not?" Not yet. She would not let the towel go just yet, wait a moment and see what he had to say, and then ...

"You've got this all locked up, don't you, pussycat?" He had placed his hands on the back of the sofa, now, looking down at her, not that she was concerned. He looked as though he would love nothing more than to remove the tie around his neck, in order to breathe. She nodded slowly, eyes moving down towards where her towel was folded, holding it in place for the time being, hand still gently playing. She would drive him wild before the night was out, and they both knew it – just how wild, however, remained to be seen.

"What can I say? You got me excited ..." Her voice trailed off, just as her hand unfolded the towel, shrugging it off almost listlessly. She had him. His eyes were almost popping out of his skull, though he would never make it clear that they were. He didn't even bother to unbutton his jacket or loosen his tie, even as she leaned back, lifting her legs up onto the sofa, never taking her eyes off him.

"Well, all you gotta do is say the word, doll." There it was. While he might have liked to think himself infallible in this sense, in perfect control while in his own room, she knew better, if only from the way in which his voice wavered. She raised an eyebrow purposefully, slipping back strands of her bleached hair behind her ears.

"Oh? And what word is that?" She vaguely recalled mentioning something about 'handling his package' the last time, even blushed slightly at the memory. She couldn't come up with anything quite so ... original, this time, not caring for the fact that she had been planning this for quite some time. Well, since they had arrived back on the Strip, at least. It was clear that he had no idea what the word was himself, because finally, his right hand grasped at the knot in his tie, and he began to tug at it. She felt his eyes upon her as she got to her feet, moving slowly, deliberately, hips swaying from side to side as she placed one foot in front of the other, scooping up some of the cards off the counter. "Think fast, Ben-man," She grinned, shuffling them into a deck, and holding them out, doing her best to seem unaware of her state of undress. "Pick the right card and you might just have the time of your life. The wrong one means you have to do _every little thing_ I say." She put emphasis on the words because she wanted to make it clear what she was intending to do, but somehow, it managed to come out as more of a moan. She watched him pause. He had no idea what to do next and she loved it.

"Baby, can't we skip the games and-"

"Oh, I think you'll like this game," She insisted. She inclined the deck of playing cards towards him once again, watching his left hand snake out towards them at last, right still at his tie. Without really knowing the stakes, he was unsure of which card to put on the table, of how to go about it, so he snatched at a card near the top of the deck, gently pushing the ones above it out of the way as he withdrew, holding the card between two fingers and looking at it for himself without showing her. He couldn't quite muster a look of elation, it seemed, perhaps because he didn't know exactly what the card meant, but for some reason, he looked triumphant. Damn. She had thought they had been the other way around. He flipped the card over, revealing to her the Joker she had previously used to represent him. "Oh," She uttered softly, placing the cards back on the counter, eyes wide, this time in genuine surprise. "I guess it's your turn to show me what you got, then, Ben-man." In spite of herself, she allowed the slightest suggestive smirk to show, but it was short lived.

"I'm gonna show you the Tops, pussycat." Of course he couldn't resist – what man could? It was a fact that she had reassured herself with for years, and as she felt his right hand, the one that had previously been grasping at his black tie, grasping at her breasts, she knew he only had one thing on his mind for this evening, and it had nothing to do with seizing power. Well, not in the literal sense, at least – what he did between the sheets, however ...

Her hands snatched roughly at the buttons on his jacket as they backed through the door into his room, landing heavily upon the mattress. Without any items of clothing to remove from her body, she noticed how Benny turned his attention instead towards aiding her in this, lips pressed tightly against hers but ... she opened her eyes, just a fraction, noticing that his, too, were fixated upon her. If it had been anyone else, she might have thought that it was because he didn't want to miss a trick, but this was Benny. Trust, she guessed, was something they could work on much later.

His shirt hung open as her hands fumbled with his belt, just as they had done many times before, with many other men. The NCR uniforms were the worst. They took a long time to get into, and the soldiers were far too eager, far too often, so it was rarely worth it. She hoped he wouldn't disappoint, then, knowing that he had been all tied up with the Legion for quite a while, but ... no. She was a prize worth waiting for, she was sure of it.

She ran one of her hands across his chest, slowly moving downwards, thinking that he was obviously so preoccupied, it would not matter. He probably felt her lips twist into a smirk against his own, because he grasped her wrist, withdrew her hand, and led it above her head.

"My turn, pussycat, you dig?" His voice was low as he said it, but it seemed to have given him the opening he had been waiting for. He did not return his lips to hers, but Lola was compelled to gasp, all the same, when she felt them upon her neck. Lower ... of course he was moving lower, what else would he be doing? He obviously had something in mind, and while she was not yet sure how she felt about that, Lola had to admit ... it didn't seem half bad to her. What was the worst he could do, after all? And ... _that _... that didn't feel half bad, either.

She hadn't felt herself gasping much like that lately. A sharp intake of breath, chest swelling, back arched, and he had only just started. Maybe she had forgotten the feeling; she was so used to using what she knew to please men, mostly – she couldn't remember the last time she had slept with a woman, which was more a matter of circumstance than anything else. She tended to forget about herself, not that she particularly cared when it meant winning. She got what she wanted, and it didn't matter how she screwed them, how many times she did it, or where it was as long as she had achieved something from doing it.

But this was entirely different. It shouldn't have been so, but regardless of the things she could do to him, she was entirely at his mercy, now. She shuddered, chest more than heavy, knowing her breaths were more than just audible. She hadn't felt it like this in quite some time, either; sometimes, she couldn't feel anything at all, but knew that they sure could, so made an effort. When they were so wrapped up in their own pleasure, she could get away with it; but Benny ... somehow, she figured Benny would know, though it was not as though it mattered. His increase in speed, vigor only served to make it clear he knew that she was close.

She noticed how she was moaning, even as she closed her eyes and arched her back again; irresistible, irrepressible, and yet almost torturous when she got this close. Part of her waited for the release, the other wanting to be suspended in the moment for a while, but he did not allow her either. Noticing her reactions, she felt him move away, familiar breaths upon the side of her face ...

"Bastard," She moaned as grasped her breasts ... of course he couldn't resist them, but she was yet to meet a man who could, with the exceptions being obvious. She had been so ... _close _... but of course he had known that, and he had done this on purpose, not yet entering even though she was ready for him to do it. He was letting her calm down a little, having his fun, setting her on tenterhooks with her eyes closed in pleasure so that she would have no real warning of when he would start. Stupid goddamn Joker card. She should have been the one in control here.

"Hey, now, honey baby," His voice was hushed, not quite as breathless as she was. He kept it as smooth as always, but that was not really a surprise. "You're mine for tonight, remember?" Oh, she remembered all right. Opening her eyes a fraction, she noted how smug he looked through all of this, paused there, above her, her legs draped over his shoulders because she was powerless to do anything else.

And, probably just as he had planned, she found herself far too absorbed in his smugness to notice his movements, not until she noticed herself gasping again, grabbing hold of the pillows on either side of her, using his hands to steady himself rather than touch now as he entered. Just enough time for her to calm down before he brought her back again ... just enough time to get her distracted before taking her. It was almost a welcome change, really, if alien to her.

Friction, force, closeness, all of which she had never paid much attention to before. If this wasn't unity, she had no idea what was, smirked as much as she could when realizing that by doing this, he was accepting, bowing to her ideals, even if he didn't know it yet. Warmth ... yes, she enjoyed that part of it. Even though her knees being bent so that they were almost either side of her head prevented him from being too close, it didn't seem to matter. For once, it was an act, not something she could use whenever she pleased, and not something irrelevant or singular. She was relaxing more, not thinking so much about what came next and having to replicate it as experiencing that beautiful torture again; almost there, but not quite. Any moment now, but still so far away. She watched him, hair not so neatly combed, now, concentrating, but enjoying at the same time. Remarkable.

And, for some reason, while she was moaning so that the sound echoed around the room, and breathing raggedly, sending him further and further towards his climax as she did so, she noted how she actually seemed to _enjoy_ herself when she was with him. Not when they were paranoid about who would shoot who, but here in the bedroom where she was supposed to rule, she found herself weakened to this, and enjoying it for that reason.

That heaviness was familiar, too. Preceded by a moan louder than all the others, eyes closed in on themselves again, cheeks and chest reddening and ... _oh_, for maybe only a second, or maybe even less than that, pleasure; always so brief, but so familiar when it was growing closer, but now, she wanted to stretch her legs out on the bed and watch him all night, just in case he ran out on her again, leaving nothing but a note.


	6. Enemies

**A/N: **Not sure how 'disturbing' the subject matter of this chapter really is, but it's a little … well. It's not exactly pleasant. I've tried to tone it down, though. Just an interlude chapter, really, I didn't want to spend too much time focusing on the events of this chapter given the … yeah. Subject matter.

**Chapter Six – Enemies**

"Sorry, Ben-man. My turn to stand you up." She whispered, placing the note on the pillow and checking to see that she had everything. She wouldn't be long, anyway, she liked to think of it as checking to make sure everything was just to her liking, or that everything would go ahead as planned. Something to that effect.

She wouldn't need any weapons for the time being, she figured that anything she did need would probably just be the kinds of things she kept stored at the Lucky 38 – a ripper, a straight razor and a revolver. She didn't intend on straying too far out of the New Vegas area as it was, although it would probably involve passing through Freeside. She could handle the thugs, as long as they didn't get their filthy hands on her, and somehow, she had a feeling that they would. All of this aside, she was willing not to make a stir in the Tops, because Benny would be at her side instantly. Ah, paranoia.

Still, she felt naked without her guns. She smirked to herself at the thought, noting that she was used to this sensation, but not at all used to this vulnerability that being unarmed caused. Outside of the casinos, she still felt compelled to arm herself with something, more as a way of it being just in case than anything else. She couldn't afford to, now, though.

As she crossed the Strip, Lola felt like a little girl again. Something similar to this had happened when they had been travelling towards the Fort, but now … she closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, opened them again. She couldn't deny that someone was following her. Men so often wore the same shades of black on black on white and orange around here, but she could tell a coldness in their eyes a mile off. It was something she not only recognized, but remembered as being a look she had worn, once.

His hand twitched for something metallic, hidden in the pocket of a jacket he looked so obviously uncomfortable in. He nodded to another, a little way behind him, and he caught up, eyes fixated on her. She shivered. It was too early for the drunks looking to get lucky. If they had spent any time on the Strip before this, she was sure that they would have known that at the very least.

She tried to keep staring directly ahead, but it was hard to do when she was well aware of them following her … growing closer … she could hear them breathing, now, one either side of her. They gripped her arms and held onto them tightly, making sure that she could not move any more than she needed to, in order to be able to walk.

"We'll kill you if you try to escape," Where was she supposed to be escaping from, anyways? Lola didn't scream, and knew how dangerously close she was coming to resignation. She didn't scream because she knew it was futile. It would cause more of a scene than it had to for a start, and her pride would hardly allow her to be the woman who needed rescuing. She didn't scream because she had almost instantly known who these men were, and had half expected them to come for her, eventually. She didn't scream, even as they passed the gate into Freeside and he pressed a gun to her ribs. "You're a wanted woman." He hissed, but said nothing more as they marched her through the streets, nobody turning their heads because nobody seemed to care. She would have expected the Kings to recognize one of their own, but noted how early it was, and how these men were dressed like any others who might have paraded out of the Atomic Wrangler with a particularly pretty girl in tow. It was not until they were outside the gate, having evaded the three Kings who usually guarded it that they stopped, shoving her to the ground.

"Caesar show no kindness to the ones who betray him. He did, however, acknowledge that your death would be a waste … how right he was," Not that they would disagree with their mighty Caesar, anyway. She glanced up at both of them, not yet ready to give in to their leering faces, resisting the urge to spit at them only because she valued her own life. "A woman of your ilk would bear fine children." They were not advancing. One kept his gun pointed directly at her face, looking startled as her smirk grew. They didn't know her secret.

"You don't fear in light of your fate?" He questioned, doing his best to remain the same, keep the same level of composure as he had had previously. She wouldn't tell them. She might survive if she didn't.

"I know what you're going to do to me."

"And yet you don't run from us?"

"Why would I? You … you are from the Legion, and I'm just some whore you picked up on the Strip." She knew how dangerously she was playing, but could not bring herself to care so much for the fact. They already had her. She could see behind those eyes of theirs that they would want to have their turn before anyone else, but what did it matter? She had been with more men than she could count, more women than some men she knew … yet, this was different. Perhaps they saw it strike her, hit her with violent force, because they took their chance to regain control.

"The decadence of the Strip may have taught you to play games well, but do not pretend that word of your actions hasn't spread across the Wasteland. It's how we found you, after all." Damn it. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, looked at the dry ground, tried to get to her feet until one of the men struck her across the face. She fell again, and this time, they were not far behind, the one with the gun pinning her to the ground by her throat with his free hand. She winced.

"Think of this as our reward for collecting our bounty." The one who was speaking, cold Legion boy dressed all in black, remained standing as the other, his companion, tossed his gun to the side. His partner picked it up; Lola knew this because it was the last thing she looked at, the last thing she saw. It was not as sudden as when Benny had shot her in the head, because she was aware of his hands, her shirt, his teeth, her jeans. No matter how much she tried to close herself off to it, she could not pretend that it wasn't happening.

It didn't hurt because he was being violent in his attacks, his force, roughly tugging at her clothing and succeeding in removing it. It hurt because Lola was not the one tempting him to do it. Perhaps her body inadvertently did this for her, but she had no control; she could not straddle one of them and tell them what she was going to do to them. She could not guide their hands and fake it, pretend that she was enjoying herself, when really, she was just enjoying the sensation of her ego growing larger and larger. He tugged roughly at her hair and she was brought back to the ruined Earth, forcibly bare back securely in the dirt, a sight to behold in any other situation.

He would not make her cry, though. No matter how inexorable his assault was, it was nothing compared to before. How she had learned to defend herself, how she had taught herself never to scream or cry, and how she had survived until now was all down to this, and breaking one rule she had imposed upon herself was to break them all. Without her will, she would be weak, she would be dead within seconds. She was strong because of what they had done. She had only decided to brave the Wasteland because of it.

She considered Benny, perhaps stirring awake and reading the note she had left.

_Sorry, Ben-man. I swear, I won't be long, and trust me, you won't have to save my ass from the Legion like I did yours._

Hindsight would have been a great thing when writing that.

_Think of this as going out for some groceries. _

She would have to thank Veronica for that turn of phrase, if she got out of this mess.

_I'll be back before you know it, and then we can press on. Don't worry, I remember what you said you wanted me to get last night, so I'm taking the caps now before I spend them all in your casino. _

Not like it mattered now. She heard the familiar sound of caps colliding with one another in denim pockets, knew before she opened her eyes a fraction that the other Legionary was rifling through the few belongings she had kept with her.

_I'll beat the Lucky 38 for a while. My pals need to know the situation, you know? If you get impatient, then show this letter to Victor. The fact that you're still alive means that you have my permission to be there, that should be good enough, but try not to get yourself killed. _

Well, that was looking less likely, now. If he headed on over to the Lucky 38, not that she was expecting him to, he would have a nasty surprise in store. She could probably count on Arcade to be some kind of voice of reason, but she could not ensure that everyone would take so … placidly to him. Cass sprung to mind.

_By the way, tonight it's my turn to show you 'the Tops'. _

A false promise, now. The relief she felt was fleeting, not in the escape that the letter had brought her, but instead, that she was no longer pinned to the ground. She wished that she hadn't looked up, in the hope that she would be able to get to her feet, pull on her clothes. He grabbed her by her hair, as they all seemed to fond of doing, dragged her to her knees.

"Prove your worth, poisonous bitch."


	7. The Side Business

**Chapter Seven – The Side Business**

He guessed that he shouldn't have been surprised by the fact that she had left like that. He had not forgotten that he had done a similar thing to her and, not only this, but he had never trusted the broad, anyway. This was a bit of a stretch, of course – he had never so much trusted her as he had come to realize that she knew what she was talking about. She had all the connections that he had strived for so long to glean, and she was going to use them to her advantage, there was no mistake. She had already started to, really.

He folded the note and slipped it under the pillow, unsure of where else to put it, but … well. As he knotted his black tie, he wondered why he suddenly felt like he had no real idea of what he was going to do. He did not want to face up to the fact that she knew more about this, now, than he did, but as he stared over at the deck of cards strewn across the counter, he noted that this was certainly the case. His reason for this, or the best reason that he could come up with at any rate was that she had had the time to study the inner workings of New Vegas in a way that he had not. He finally knew the meaning of shooting oneself in the foot, and this was surely it.

Benny was no fool, and he was not quite so ignorant as he might have projected in the past. Sure, he might not have shot the woman in the head had he known that it would cause all of this, but he knew that it _had_ caused it, and this was what was important. Then again, her delivery of the Chip might have sparked more than this. She might have still managed to become a celebrity, although he figured this would have had much more to do with the fact that a courier of her … well, of her nature had been hired than anything else. No doubt, she would have found a way to ensure she rose through the ranks and then could sit comfortably as the head of Vegas, and she would have done it without having been shot.

"Another broad can't stand your company, Benny?" He knew Swank wasn't being serious, but all the same, it bothered him, mainly because he did not fully understand her reason for leaving.

"Can it. Did you see where she was headed?" For some reason, he didn't like the slight grin that appeared on Swank's face at that moment. It suggested that he knew more than he should, or more than Benny really wanted to know. It was not as though he was concerned, of course. He was just curious, or so he liked to think. He didn't notice that he had sweat on his brow until it was too late.

"Now what would a cat like you want with knowing where a broad like that went?" Yes, he didn't like the grin on Swank's face at all. He thought he might simply have been looking for something to do, because he found himself shuffling the cards that lay on the counter, organizing them into a pack instead of leaving them there. He was giving off signs that were far too obvious, he knew, but he stood by the reasoning that he was not concerned for the woman's safety – the goddamn broad could do what she wanted, but it was what she had promised at the end of the note that interested him most. If nothing else, the prospect of this was more than enough to get him going, wanting to know where she had wandered off to. Broads like her did not simply go grocery shopping, although he severely doubted she had even meant that in the note. It was more likely that she was stumbling back to the Strip as the two of them spoke (however sparsely), barely able to carry all the ammo she had bought. But then why would they need it just yet?

"Nothing," He muttered eventually, making it more than clear that 'nothing' was a lie. "Just wondering when she'll come back. We've got business, you dig?" Still, that grin. He knew that his right hand man was teetering on the edge of saying something, wanted to let it slip. He'd enjoy it way too much. Benny noted how the two of them, he and Swank, were close cats, had each others backs in a way … but when it came to women, they always seemed to be at loggerheads. It didn't really surprise him. Each wanted their chance to grab at a particular beauty whenever one appeared, if only for status if nothing else. He couldn't say that every broad he'd taken up to his suite had engaged in the same activities; sometimes, it was just plain nice to be seen disappearing with a hot broad in tow.

"Yeah. That broad has quite the side business going," Benny raised an eyebrow, almost able to discern what Swank meant, but wanting the clarification all the same. "Not the highest roller, though. Lost more than she's made in this place."

"This side business ..."

"Not anything to worry about, Benny. Just, that white-blonde hair don't mean she's an angel, dig?" If this was all, then it was unfounded. He already knew that she was no angel, she had made that clear more than once. The blonde hair … it didn't suit her, but her eyes were dark. He didn't know what she lined them with, but if there was anything that made it clear she was more demonic than anything, it was this. Purposeful, no doubt.

"This just a way of getting my girl, Swank?"

"You ready to tell her that? That she's your girl?" He didn't like the threat in that. He knew it was a threat because, while he didn't claim to know the courier he had shot so well, she would object highly to being called 'his'. Swank seemed to know this, too, but it was much clearer why he did – he was the one who had spent the time with her. "Benny … pal," There was an edge to his voice even as he said this. "Do you even know the broad's name?" Like he would admit to not knowing. Swank, however, did not follow up his question, even as Benny remained silent – if he would not admit it himself, his silence said it all. "Just ask her about her little side business next time you see her, dig?" He didn't stay any longer. Benny found himself loosening his tie, always seemed to when he was nervous. How many times had he done it when in the company of the Khans? He couldn't even remember.

He glanced over at his pillow again, considered … well, she had said she would be at the Lucky 38, hadn't she? Maybe she had never even left the Strip. As crazy as this sounded, it was just about viable, and Benny wasn't the kind of cat to second guess an idea once it crossed his mind; it was probably this that had landed him in so many tough situations over the course of the past few months, but an idea was still an idea, and he was going to stand by it.

If there was one thing that his patrons made him all too conscious of as he crossed the casino, it was that there was business wear, and then there was _his_ business wear. There were suits, and then there was _his_ suit. He liked the idea that he could stand out so ostentatiously in a crowd, but it also led to awkward questions being asked in awkward places. Questions like 'where you splitting to now, boss?' and 'how many months you plan to be gone this time?', none of which he answered. He had come to recognize the thin line between respect and mockery, and he was starting to get the feeling that his employees mocked him more than they respected him; while House still called them 'families', there was nothing familial about his own relationship with those around him … the strangest part was, he suspected that they were the closest 'family' on the Strip.

The note was tucked tightly into his checkered pocket as he looked out towards the tower. The damn robot was still there, though he had always suspected this as it was. No matter, showing it the note would more than likely ensure he got in, or at least got answers … whether or not House had programmed it to shoot him on sight was another matter, but the Securitrons hadn't really reacted at all when they had passed through the gate. Ah, but of course. _They_ had passed through the gate, not him on his own, and yet … here he was, still alive.

"How can I help ya, pardner?" Well, he was not dead yet. He snatched the folded note out of his pocket and held it up.

"I'm looking for the blonde broad – she left this for me this morning. Wouldn't happen to know where she headed, would you?" Maybe the pause signaled something, like the robot stopping to think about his answer. If the face ever changed from that cigarette-in-mouth, cheerful cowboy, he was sure that it would have looked thoughtful.

"As a matter of fact, I have. She was headed … that-a-way," One of his robot arms gestured towards the North gate. "Was with a couple of mighty fine looking fellas. Looked like they were making a deal of sorts, they were awfully close to her." Benny glanced around. Of course the robot wouldn't have been able to tell whether these men were friendly or not, seeing as how so many gamblers around were dressed the same way, and so many others were either in NCR uniform or so painfully obviously from farms and ranches. Something told him, however, that the broad had not been making a deal with those men; but then again, what if they had been mercenaries in disguise? What if she was plotting for them to assassinate him the moment they took Vegas? Not for the first time during the day, Benny noticed sweat upon his brow.

"You didn't happen to catch what those cats were jawing about, did you?"

"Cant say I did, pardner. They made tracks pretty damn fast, kinda like you did." Benny scowled and turned away without thanking the Securitron for his efforts. No help whatsoever, and he had not even made it inside the Lucky 38 – but if nobody else had seen her, then she must have been making a pretty good effort to keep everything under wraps. The problem was, none of it really seemed to make any sense; if she had been trying so hard to keep her operations private and disappeared so quickly, she would not have left him a note detailing where she was going to be. There was no way she could have intended for him to question Victor, because if his current idea was correct, then the robot had just led him closer to a solution, rather than deter him. He did not think she would do that. This only really left two possible theories, neither of which he was so sure of, yet. Either she was intending for him to follow her into a trap, or she had been taken against her will; and considering she had expressed how much she needed his help to take over Vegas, he did not think the former was quite so likely as the latter.

As he headed back to his own casino, he frowned and rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of it. If she _had_ been kidnapped, then she would probably be expecting him to repay the favor and help her out. If he helped her out, then he would probably end up dead … he did not really see any point in pretending that he was any good with firearms, as much as he needed to be when cornered, but he was a man of tailored suits and wing-tip shoes and martinis, now. He was not going to pretend that he was as skilled in combat as he had once been.

And then there had been the issue that Swank had raised, the reason he had actually been driven to head over there in the first place. He thought he knew already what the side business was; she bleached her hair without cause for it, sometimes made an effort to look alluring, and all this aside, he would not deny her the fact that her figure was what gave her the ability to pull men in by the collar and have her way with them, just like she had done to him the first time they had met. He had wondered, at first, how she had been able to afford her equipment but, from what Swank had said … whatever she gave, she demanded payment for. He didn't know why, but he didn't like the idea of this at all; he grew hot, irritated, perhaps he would have called it anger had he not been concerned with so many other things, though mainly questioning why he was getting jealous over a throwaway broad.

Hot damn. That was it, wasn't it? She had the caps, and she had gotten them … why was he feeling this all of a sudden? Surely, he didn't think that she was so closely involved with him that she _belonged_ to him, that she was the only one. He supposed it was the power that had gone to his head; the acknowledgment that once he owned something, it could not belong to anyone else. The belief that, because she had involved herself with him, even after all that had passed between them, he was the only man she had ever been with, or would ever be with.

He slammed the glass down on the table at the thought of it. Usually, he was calculating about these kinds of things. Usually, he would simply sit and brood, but brooding was doing no good, most likely because he had simply been brooding over too much of it. He could not come to a clear-cut solution. He thought he knew what the most likely solution was, but in reality, anything could have happened. He knew that he had started the bartender, but ordered another martini, anyway – or, at least, what was his version of a martini, a pre-War name that, for some reason, stuck to him.

Still, she was bugging him, and there was very little else he could do about it, aside from downing his martinis, quickly as he liked. Soon, it would get around that something was up with the boss. He didn't care. He had more than enough to do, and besides, he _was_ the boss, he authorized, or didn't authorize, everything as he saw fit; Benny noted how this had been his solution from the very beginning, power gave him authority, and authority always solved his problems. Well … almost always.


	8. Render Unto Caesar

**A/N: **First off, I'd like to say thanks to anyone who has kept with this up until this point. =) it's been a while since I've really been able to get my teeth into writing something, plotting something all the way through and actually … starting a project, so … yeah. =) thanks for sticking with this! Secondly, as with before this is a Legion/Lola chapter, so it may contain some less than pleasant material. Just a heads up – from what I've planned, it shouldn't be very graphic at all. Enjoy! =)

**Chapter Eight – Render Unto Caesar**

Oh, what a beauty. Surprising, given all that the Wasteland had already put her through, and this was before she had been shot twice in the head, but she maintained herself. She had always maintained herself. Her body was her weapon, and she took this idea seriously; she made sure that she was always in perfect working condition, whenever she needed to be, and so far, it had worked well enough.

At least, it had worked well enough until she had been kidnapped. In the few seconds' reprieve from the violence she had, she ran a hand across her face, blood on her fingertips. Her lips were swollen. Once, she could no longer remember when, they had been full, soft, perfect enough to whisper their first names gently into their ears or kiss at their bodies, tempting them into sin. There was a cut above her right eyebrow, she only knew this because she could fell the warm blood gently seeping out of it, running down into her dark brown eye. it was on the opposite side to the bullet wounds – she would have to decide between hiding one or the other, now. She was sore, ached when she moved, and knew that it was not yet over, that one of them would be coming back for more. She laughed bitterly at the fact, tasting her own blood. Even now, even in this state, men could not resist her. She had to tell herself that it was her beauty because it kept her as sane as it was possible to be as a slave.

So, when the guard came to her pen and picked her out from amongst all the other nameless faces, Lola was not at all surprised. She had kept a mantra for the past twenty-four hours, something to the effect of 'they'll notice I'm gone and they'll help me.' She was not entirely sure as to whether she really believed this just yet, but she so desperately wanted to have faith in her companions that it was an idea she could not allow herself to forsake, no matter how many times her torture proved that it was nearly time to do so. She wasn't so much of a fool to convince herself that Benny would come to her rescue … but at the very least, she thought Boone might, what with his vendetta against the Legion and all.

"So, you've finally learned how to tremble, bitch." She hadn't been aware of it, really, or perhaps she had been trembling for so long that she had forgotten that she was still doing it. Regardless of what the cause was, it did not exactly prove her strength … brilliant.

"Your forces have weakened me." He struck her for talking back to him, even if it had been something of a compliment. She had come to learn that this was only the start of it, anyway, that there was always more where it came from, and it usually involved the practice of armor being flung roughly to the ground. She wanted desperately to assure herself that she was slowly becoming numb to their onslaughts, but the one things that remained firmly placed in her mind was that she was going to suffer more than any of the others. The other slaves could writhe and scream, but eventually, most of them would be pregnant, and she would not be. It was not just this, of course. She doubted that any of the slaves had betrayed the Legion in quite the same was as she had, not the NCR troopers, not the Powder Gangers … she had betrayed the Legion more terribly than any of them, and so, it only made sense that she would have to pay a high price; eventually, she would have to pay with her life, and there was nothing that could prevent this. No amount of favors, each more lurid than the next … Lola closed her eyes.

She opened them when the canvas rubbed at her knees, and she was thrown to the floor, without hearing the armor following him. Two dogs growled, but what did it matter? If they wanted to watch, she hardly thought it mattered. They were dogs after all. She neglected to think that it would have been a different matter had Rex accompanied her here, but the more that she thought about it, the less comfortable she was with that idea. Nobody else needed to be embroiled in this, no matter how much she needed help right now.

"Did you think we wouldn't find you?" And there he was again. The last time she had seen him, he had been charging at her, they had gotten away just in time. Still, his voice remained placid, it unnerved her, now, rather than causing her to feel triumph. She opened her mouth, thinking a response was necessary, until he held up his gloved hand. "I was _determined_ that we'd get to exact our revenge before we attack. So tell me … have you had enough yet?" Lola tried to smirk, not caring if it angered him. It was a smirk, not an assassination attempt. She thought carefully about her response, knowing that there were two ways in which to go about things … convincing him that she had, indeed, had enough, would yield no pity on his part, but might give her some kind of opening for an attack. The other was …

"I've been through much, much worse, believe me," Yes, that smirk. She knew that she looked almost deranged with her bloodied lips and matted blonde hair, bruises blossoming all over her partially covered body. It was true what she said, however. She _had_ been through much worse than this … now if all of the guards in the room converged on her, it would be a different matter. "Besides, wouldn't you like to have your way with me before you slaughter me?" Why was he wincing? Surely he was not intimidated by the thought of it? While Lola knew that she was simply using all she had used before to her advantage, it seemed to be something much different than this for the mighty Caesar. Maybe he chose not to associate himself to heavily with slaves, but she guessed that she would have to remind him of the fact that she was no ordinary slave.

"What makes you think I'd want anything with the likes of you?" He should have sounded angrier. Lola noticed how a light in his eyes failed to flare angrily as he said it, how he was not so convincing. His response, his reaction was dulled by pain. If there were two things that Lola knew, they were seduction and pain … but of course, the mighty Caesar would never admit to something like that. She could not move an inch because of the guards the flanked his throne, although there _were_ only two of them. One had his leg bound with thick bandaging, the other must have come from elsewhere … he was probably waiting for the rest of his army to arrive. Instead of moving closer to him, she tugged at the itchy slave rags about her neck, fingers brushing against the collar that dug into it. She shivered.

"Why wouldn't you? You can beat me all you want, you know. I just thought that if your men are allowed to have me … you'd get to have your turn, sometime, too." Again, what should have been an angry gesture just turned to one of irritation, and this time, Caesar brought a hand up to his head, groaning. He glanced momentarily at his guards, the slightest nod he could manage, and then beckoned for her to follow him.

This could not have been right … but sure enough, he had beckoned. Lola followed without question, only able to consider how well her plan had worked. How _quickly_ she had persuaded him, just by showing a little more skin than was already visible, suggesting that she was really something special. She was surprised, indeed, that he had not questioned how many men, outside the Legion, she had had already. His pride may have been the deciding factor, but that did not seem to be the case, although as she drew level with the drapes that separated his room from the rest of the tent, she saw that something was different, something was wrong.

She continued on, further forward, drawing level with his bed and then, his bedside. An abandoned Autodoc lay at the foot of the bed, and the guards were breathing down her neck, but she could only think that she might, soon, be free. Sure, they had stripped her of all her hidden weapons upon arrival, but she did not doubt that some sharp object, or even the heat of the moment, could play its part. She was not yet sure how she felt about assassinating Caesar, but she quickly reminded herself that she had been on the verge of doing it not so long ago. That, while the burly Legion man with the scars had been pounding into her, she had imagined the look on Caesar's face as she murdered him and accidentally screamed in pleasure prematurely.

It was the same look of anguish on his face, now, as he lay in his bed, pained by something that she could not see. She was not so shabby with medicine, but now was not the time for diagnosis. She made to climb onto the bed and was instantly pulled back.

"Y-your … execution date … it's set." Lola's eyes widened. No. She had had it all worked out. She had been so sure of what it was that she had to do, so clear that her situation now meant that she had a death sentence hanging over her head and … she doubled over, guards propping her up, held by her wrists, wanting to vomit. Of course they would crucify her. She was the ultimate sinner, lust and greed and pride, and more, and in their eyes, she wholly deserved a place upon the cross.

They stopped in the middle of the tent. Her knees were already sore from where she had been thrown to the canvas floor of the tent, and now it was the same again. She heard the armor, crashing to the ground, and felt the slave rags being removed from her body, the collar tight around her neck even as she gasped for air, chest tight. She would liked to have thought she had grown used to this by now, but in reality, she did not think she would ever grow used to losing power this way. She would never grow used to being rendered powerless to brutes who needed one thing only, and were only doing it because of her betrayal.

Her matted blonde hair fell past her cheeks, knees and elbows rubbing against the canvas. She half expected a hand at her throat, but instead, his fingers dug into her hips. Tears. She saw them before she felt them, having promised never to let them go, but suddenly, here they were.

She had to kill as many as she could before she went down. If nobody else was going to save her, then she would have to grant herself this one, small sliver of salvation. If she was going to die she would make sure many others did, the ones who caused her pain like this and had stripped her of everything, but most significantly of her power. Vulnerability, a condition she hated, and with good cause.

They all took turns. One had fetched another three from outside the tent, and she was reminded of the vicious, the possibly drug-addled, six of them having ambushed her somewhere in the South of the country. She hadn't been on her way to the Strip back then, she had just been looking for work, and could not even remember the name of the blitzed coastline where they had come at her with baseball bats and kitchen knives, deciding not to kill her and that she was too much of a piece to do away with. Turn-taking. The first man she had ever killed had been amongst them, and at the time, she had never wanted to stop, knowing that there was no way she could cause them the pain that they had caused her. She had been nineteen, but she was older now, should have been wiser … nothing came of the mantra she repeated as one by one, they broke her down.

She would kill them all tomorrow, even if it meant her own death.


	9. Balance of Power, II

**Chapter Nine – Balance of Power, II**

Boone's prowess as a sniper, at least when he had been at the top of his game, had probably been second to none. That said, it did not so much rival the united skill of the First Recon as a whole, as it did equal it. That was behind him now, however. First Recon, Manny Vargas, Bitter Springs ... and Carla. He swore silently to himself that he had not forgotten her, he would never forget her – nobody noticed as his hand clasped a weathered piece of paper in his left pocket. No, he would never forget Carla.

Even as she had come into his life, and he did not deny the fact that he had seen her for what she was immediately, she had never replaced his wife. She had never pretended that she was trying to, though, either; and now, as he sat on his bed in the Lucky 38, numbly tweaking the features on his scoped rifle, he felt forced to make one thing painfully clear. Yes, Lola was the one who had been captured by the Legion this time, and yes, she needed him now more than ever, but he was not going to pretend that he was doing this entirely for her sake. He owed her his thanks, if that, but this supposed retribution ... this was for Carla.

He glanced down the scope of his rifle, more for something to do than anything else, concluding that there was nothing left. Sure, they had a plan, albeit a shabby one at best, and one that he was not so sure would even work. But why should he care about that? Slaughter sounded like a good option, anyway, and so long as it was the slaughter of Legionaries, he didn't care how half-baked any plan the weasel, Benny, could concoct sounded.

* * *

She had lost count of the names they had called her, the kind of stuff that died before it even hit her. She did not like to think that she had become so numb to it, and so quickly, because after all, she still had plenty left to do to them; the prospect of actually getting through this was all that was keeping her alive as they beat her, more vicious in their attacks than they had been before. She knew why. She was useless to them, now, and with a death sentence upon her head, they could do what they liked to her without fear of being reprimanded by a higher power.

There were a few things that Lola had come to know since the assault in Caesar's tent. The first was that she had no choice than to let it roll off her back. The moment when she had desired revenge had come, and while it had not necessarily gone, she had been forced to subdue it for the time being. The second was that, in some strange way, the beatings had stopped hurting. Feet and fists, and more often than not, more than this ... she thought that maybe weakness had caused it to become some kind of a blur of ambivalence, at long last.

Not this time, though. She clenched her teeth as the burly soldier, probably a Decanus or something to that effect, grabbed her ankles and parted her legs roughly, not even bothering to remove his armor. She winced, but did not lose sight of the glinting metal about his waist, the sheathed object that may just have been her way out. It wasn't as though she had spent an extensive amount of time planning this. It was no secret that most Legionaries carried around a machete at the very least, however; a habit, or command, that would prove very useful indeed.

Of course, she would have to wait for him to move in closer, and by the look of things, this was only going to be possible in one way. She had taught herself not to scream unless she really wanted to, and right now, she did not really want to, nor did she think it would be useful to her cause to do so. Instead, she bit down on her bottom lip so hard it started to bleed; no wonder those once beautiful lips were cut and bloodied, now. She had done most of the work herself. He snorted, ignoring her reactions, only interested in his own pleasure, which suited Lola just fine. Fine enough to noticed that she would be able to grab the machete attached to his belt the next time he pounded into her, that was.

And the next time. The next. Each time he seemed to increase in his assault, as though he could sense what she was about to do. Even as his hand came down and pinned her left wrist above her head, Lola could almost tell that it was an exercise in futility. What she needed was a chance to distract him long enough, perhaps even make him look away, just so that she could grab the weapon and not think twice about thrusting it through his neck.

She grinned. It had to be the most inopportune time, the strangest moment, but she could not help herself – through her mind flashed the thought, the notion, that soon, she would be the one penetrating him. Crude as it was, it was fact, or it would be if she could reach the object of her desire, cold, cruel metal, cared for like an infant, perfect working condition, just like she had once been.

Her hand shot out for it the moment she heard gunshots. Her fingers fumbled with the handle for a moment, a clumsiness that she had never before exhibited, slipped away as he drew back in order to attack some more. Her heard must have stopped for a moment, the second it took for her to realize that he had noticed what she was trying to do, and brought hi right hand crashing down above her head, twisting her free wrist back on itself and causing her to yell out. It happened, all in that split second, her cry reaching his ears, and she did not have to guess at what had happened as he stopped, dead. If anything never failed to disgust her, it was this moment. Every time one of the bastards finished, she felt nauseous, numb and dizzy simultaneously, more violated than any other act had caused her to feel. They usually did it when she screamed, too.

She didn't have time to clutch at her stomach, however, as his foot made contact. Not the first time, Wouldn't be the last, either. She writhed, coughing, spitting onto the dusty ground, and reaching out for something ... she did not know what. There was nothing for her to really reach out for, but it seemed to help as she clutched at her stomach, only for his foot to make contact with her hip this time. She had to admit, he had recovered pretty quickly, bad news for her but good news for the violence he was about to inflict; as the gunshots rang out again, a quick, stuttering sound that made it seem like the shots were being fired from a machine gun ... oh. Lola sighed, silently, to herself. She did not know anyone on her side who used a machine gun, or at least, apart from herself. As he kicked out at her again, she crashed to the ground, skin tearing from her left arm.

She expected the fourth shot to be aimed at her face, but it never came; she expected the sound of a body crashing to the ground ... wait ...

"You look like you've been put through the ringer a few times, pussycat," Lola didn't have time to marvel at how strange it was to hear his voice in the midst of an attack, even as he threw his checkered jacket around her naked frame and offered her his hand. She could not explain what she felt the moment she looked up, half-closed eyes meeting his, wondering for only a moment why he did not have Maria drawn, and instead was holding what looked like a member of the Legion's cast-off 10mm. She could not bring herself to her senses, even as he hauled her to her feet and guided her away from the ridged tent that offered no modesty for the act. "Real band of scrappers you have, doll." Another shot rang out, and this time, she recognized it.

She could barely make out Boone's red beret, wondered how many men had fallen already at his rifle. 'The last thing you'll never see', he had said. She sure hoped it was true this time around. Benny had his arm thrown around her, a gesture that was incongruous to both him, and everything that was going on around them, finally drawing his own, prized weapon as he handed her the submachine gun. Something about her needing it. As a man in crimson charged at them, she did not need to guess why.

Even though her limbs were shaking violently, even though Benny had let go and she was forced to walk on her own again, even as the blood dripped into her mouth and she tasted the metallic liquid once again, she could not help but relish as she pulled hard on the trigger. A volley of gunshots, small ones, a stunned look on his otherwise impassive face, blood and brains, as the impact the shots from the submachine gun made tore his face apart. Had he not gotten so close, he might have staggered around for a while, but instead, the body crashed to the ground, the head little more than a bloodied mess. Teeth and bone, and Lola was sure she saw an eyeball amongst the mess, but could only stare down at it coldly, even as Benny grasped her wrist and ushered her towards the sound of loud, powerful gunshots being fired from a very familiar rifle.

"Thought the cavalry would never come, huh, honey baby?" She gasped for breath, trying to make sense of it as he uttered those words.

"How'd you know?"

"Hush up for now, pussycat. We'll jaw about this, later." Maria made the sound this time, but she wondered how it could even have been possible; they were killing Legionaries. They were _killing_ them. If it was so easy, then why hadn't she managed it almost a week ago when they had first taken her? How had she not wrested a gun from one of her kidnappers and turned on them? Fear? Dread? Or perhaps, for the first time in her life, she had truly felt the need to be rescued. Somewhere, deep down, she had been begging for it to happen.

By the time she saw them, by the time they had staggered through the camp and reached her comrades, Lola's face was splattered with more blood than just her own. Half sickened, half enthralled, unsure of what to feel, she aimed her weapon and pulled the trigger, trying to recognize the faces that had leered down at her before, sick pleasure, thrusting, beating, finally ... release ... nausea and violation. She was not surprised to find that she could not remember a single one, and instead, they all looked the same; they were a face from long ago, every single one, strung out and looking for more than just blood. Dirt, and rotten teeth, smell of booze and spiked hair, armor made from car parts. She emptied the clip of the submachine gun, and fumbled with the next magazine that Benny handed to her, not wanting to stop. More blood. She would not be satisfied until the face was eradicated from her mind, the memory of that evening, sun on the south coast and desecration in the dirt.

She was not alone. She was unsure of how many, a confusion derived from the sheer adrenaline, an enjoyment she had never before felt. Getting blind drunk had caused the same sensation, once, when it had been new; then, when she had been strung out four times a week if not more, an effort to forget, that had driven her slowly into a stupor that could have been permanent. Sex ... no, not sex, but the power she wielded when making a man's wildest dreams come true also triggered the same feeling, but it had never been quite so intense as now, destroying the memory, and bringing down upon her something that had plagued her for seven years.

Oh, but then there was the simple irony that one moment could be easily replaced by another ... in a way, she sensed that she was healing, but at the same time, the sensation would not fade, not until she had disguised her wounds, regained her beauty.

Her eyes flared as a bullet hit another squarely between his eyes an he staggered around for a moment, temporarily stymied by both the pain and the circumstance. His eyes were wide, a gesture she had come to wholly enjoy, and she could only watch as she fell backwards.

There were so many more, of course, but a great deal of them lay with their heads and chests torn apart by bullets, knives, and she recognized the familiar, bloody mess that being pummeled with a Power Fist rendered body parts. Was she shaking? Yes, and Benny pulled her closer, thinking she was afraid, but she pulled away from him; bare, bloody legs and bruised face, submerging herself in the slaughter, even if it was almost done. They had gotten in, cleaned out as many Legionaries as they could, and were intending to get out again, it seemed ... out ... someone grabbed her wrist.

The barrel of the gun slammed against Benny's chest and Lola closed her eyes. She had not pulled the trigger; hesitation was deadly, of course, in this situation, but they were not fighting any longer. Or at least, _she_ was not fighting. There would be more, she knew that there would be more, but if they could just get out of there ... even Boone, bloodthirsty in this situation as she had never before seen him, seemed to have had enough, if only because they were encompassed by a stillness that seemed absolute throughout the entire camp. It was odd, and she half expected Caesar to be the next to come charging out of his tent, but even he had gone silent, and it chilled her.

"Pussycat, I just called in the cavalry. That's not exactly an eighteen karat way for you to thank me, now, is it?" Lola grinned weakly, unsure of why she was letting her guard down so soon, but finding it a relief to do so. She allowed the submachine gun to fall to her side before placing it inside one of the pockets in Benny's jacket, leaning against him and letting him hold her ... she didn't know why she was letting him do this, either, she just knew that she was tired.

Her chest heaved, deep breaths to remedy the adrenaline that was still coursing through her. Her empty hands clutched the borrowed jacket closed and, for the first time since they had taken her, she felt as though she actually had some semblance of control of her life; the dead bodies filtered into her the exact kind of power that she adored because they had been the ones who had tried to break her. They had been the challenge she had needed to overcome.

"Let's take a look at that collar." She jerked out of the moment swiftly as she heard Veronica approach, placing her hands upon the explosive collar around her neck. Lola did not tense or twitch, because she knew that Veronica had grown up around devices such as these. If anyone was able to mess with it a little and get it to come off without taking her head with it, it was Veronica. Sure enough, seconds later, and with an almost docile click, the metal pressing against her throat was gone, and she had no choice but to give in, her face breaking into a full grin this time,

"Thanks," She muttered, smiling graciously in a manner that she had never before suited. She was doing her best, all the while, to seem oblivious to the fact that she looked as though she was about to collapse.

"No problems. And, just so you know, you really can't pull off that whole 'slave collar chic' look that's all the rage around here." Yes. This was what she had missed, whether she had been willing to admit it or not. She was far too cold, far too often, and it was at times like this that she started to see how futile doing so was. The loyalty that her friends showed her was undeserved, and sometimes it almost seemed unfair that they should stand so blatantly at her side when she picked them up and let them down as she pleased. Her stomach turned over. She didn't deserve this. It was all she could do to nod gently, feeling almost as though she was in a vacuum, now – it was almost as though her subconscious was willing her to focus out everything around her, a shield for her guilt and a repellent for what she had been though.

"Baby," She started again, at the sound of his voice. "I'm thinking we should split – we've caused enough of a scene for one day, I'm thinking." Another nod, but nothing said, only that same empty feeling. She might have paused, for a moment, to savor what seemed like a victory on her part, but she knew that it was far from over; she did not even know if Caesar was dead, and they still had much more to deal with before Vegas was well and truly theirs. Bittersweet might have been the word for it indeed, only Lola did not even feel compelled to consider it, to consider her situation or her part in all of this. A place to stay seemed like a good idea, alongside a hot bath and a comfortable bed, the little luxuries that she had never really given up hope on. The prospect of being executed had scared her, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she had never truly been able to take it seriously.

She knew what the next logical step was. For now, however, she wanted to rest, and to heal.


	10. Quins and Jokers

**A/N: **Quickly ... I'd just like to thank anyone who has read, reviewed or favorited this. :) as I've probably mentioned, it means a lot, and it's nice to know that even if I got to some dark places, it doesn't necessarily scare people off ^^;; – so, yep. Thanks. ^_^

**Chapter Ten – Quins and Jokers**

Benny refused to say he loved her. He actually refused to say he loved anything, aside from anything pertaining to cold, hard cash. But the more he thought about it, the more he was discovering something else he loved; not the woman who was slowly stepping out of her nightgown, but the things she did to him. The way she seemed to exude confidence, only forty-eight hours after they had arrived back on the strip, an empty cocktail glass in the living area and a slowly draining hot bath; she wasn't the nervous, shrinking thing he had seen at the Fort, nor was she the cold, merciless woman he had caught only a glimpse of as she had allowed the blood to wash over her. She was something else entirely.

So, he was not at all surprised to find himself loosening his customary black tie as she shook back her bleached hair and approached, all signs that she may have been assaulted vanishing in spite of the fact that he could still see the bruises around her ankles and wrists. In spite of the fact that, sometimes, he could still taste her blood when he kissed her.

It didn't matter when she threw her head back and he was allowed, instead, to leave a trail of kisses down the side of her neck and across her chest. It didn't matter when she let out the softest of moans, not a scream of pain or anguish as he could only imagine she had let out back at the Fort. What _did_ surprise him, however, was that she did not push him away as he pressed his body close to hers, one hand on her left breast and his lips on the other. She moved in the same, lucid way he remembered from before, not in a nervous, tense fashion that would suggest she was unwilling. But it was not her willingness that stayed with him. It was the words she had whispered in his ear just as she had climbed on top of him.

"Help me."

He didn't know what they meant, and quite frankly, he didn't really want to know, but every moan, every gasp reminded him that there was something more to this experience. Instead of plain and simple sex, which he was quite satisfied with it being, it meant something to her – this meant that, whether Benny liked it or not, he had already started to tread on some very dangerous ground.

She stopped. Goddamn it, why was she stopping when they had only just started? He tried not to breathe as she brought her face in, close to his, staring down with a kind of intensity that let him know he was getting nothing anytime soon.

"Before we get this show on the road," Good. All he needed to do was give her the right answer and she would be willing once again. "I want to know why you tagged along in that little rescue effort back at the Fort." He couldn't help himself. He grinned, pulling himself a little way out from beneath her in an effort to sit up and watched as she sat back on her heels.

"Baby, I ain't a complete loser. And besides," He toyed with telling her the truth for a moment, never one to be ashamed of such things. "We're even now, don't ya think? You scratched my back, I scratched yours, so you got nothing on me, now, doll." She narrowed her eyes at him, and Benny found himself somewhat enjoying the gesture, knowing that she would have to find one heck of a loophole if she was going to win this one. She jerked away from the bed soon enough, finding a satin gown and draping it roughly around her shoulders. She tied it with such force that he could not erase the grin entirely from his face. For some strange reason, her anger entertained him.

"Should've figured you knew you'd be gaining something from it." She spat the words out in what seemed to be disgust, but he would have half expected her to have stormed out by now. Her unwillingness to leave the four safe walls amused him. She was hugging herself and hovering near the bedroom door, but did not seem to be able to do the all-important thing and move past it ... since she had come back, she hadn't actually moved from his suite, as though she was afraid they could seize her anywhere, and until she opened her mouth, this had suited him just fine.

"Don't act so surprised, pussycat, you know the way this scene works." Still, he grinned at the glare she shot his way. _Easy, tiger ... _

"I just figured that you'd gotten yourself a little more decency. That or you'd ... no ..." It was quite the show, really. Like some kind of cult actress, playing the role of the victim and doing her best to look hurt, but she was so transparent it was tantalizing. He wanted to watch her break down like this, if only because it meant that he was the one in power, now.

"That I'd take pity on you, baby? I hate to break it to ya, but you're no mouse. I thought you could take care of yourself." She snorted in indignation, and again, Benny grinned. This might have been just the thing to get her to storm out of the room, but instead, she threw herself down on the bed, not taking her eyes off him, glaring with a more intense venom this time. Damn, now he really had upset the apple cart.

"You know what I don't get?" He shook his head, his unconcerned manner obviously incensing her. "You shoot me, then sweet-talk me when I track your ass down with every intention of killing you in your sleep. If the fact you were still alive in the morning wasn't enough then once you'd gotten yourself caught out by the Legion, I saved your ass there, too. What will it take to get you to trust me?" Aw, god damn, she was actually looking pretty hurt ... but he had never taken her for one to be affected by that kind of thing. He knew that he could easily 'sweet-talk' her, as she had put it, but there seemed to be more to it. It was not as though he wanted a full-scale recount of her past, and it was not as though he could instantly say that he trusted her, either, but the nagging thought at the back of his mind maintained one thing: he still needed her. The thing with the Legion ... well, that had just been an altercation. They needed to get back on track, now. Maybe the change in his expression was enough to make it a convincing act.

"Is that what you think, baby? Darn, and I took you for a smart broad," Perfect – she looked confused by his playful smirk. "This whole scene with House? I've been working around the clock for months trying to figure out some way into the Lucky 38. You showing up was just good fortune baby, the odds were in my favor, but I'm no pretender. The Legion could have killed you back there – I didn't risk my neck just because I need you for some part in this plan. You're just the cherry on top." Between looking insulted and relieved, he knew that he had her. Smooth talking was just his bag, and like she had her body, he was a man of words. Using them to his advantage was what he did. She inched closer to him, not passion with desperation this time, just a lost little girl, trying to figure out her way and do what she thought was right. Before she could recoil, he planted a kiss on her lips, doing his best to express care, doing his best to comfort her in spite of the fact that it was something he never did. Sure, once or twice he had had the kind of tearful broads up here, the ones who were hopeless when drunk, but someone else had handled them for him. She wrenched herself away before he even realized it.

"It's a good thing you trust me," Now they were getting to it. Her hands played for a moment at the cord that kept her robe sealed, and she knelt up on the bed, seeming as though she was about to throw off the thin satin that barely shrouded her. Instead, she pressed her body against his, almost whispering in his ear, now. "Seeing as how we barely know each other. But you know what?" He felt the satin slide between them now, if only for a split second, before it was gone. Lucid movements and seduction again, the Lola he was used to and knew a hell of a lot better than the forlorn, desperate one. "That suits me just fine." The words might have echoed in his head for hours afterwards had he not become immediately distracted from them. She was doing what she did best, and at present, this was all that mattered because he needed her to feel as though she could get close to him. He needed her to feel that, whether she _really_ trusted him or not, she could still get her own way. So long as she was the one to kill House ... the rest of it really didn't matter.


	11. The Way It's Gotta Be

**Chapter Eleven – The Way It's Gotta Be**

"You sure you've thought about this, pussycat?" In truth? No, she hadn't thought about it at all. In fact, the last thing Lola remembered doing was throwing up in the bathroom, and then hastily retreating under the sheets. She had the strangest feeling it was going to happen every time, for quite a while, and could also assume why; it was one of those annoying things she had to put behind her, or would have to eventually, and the best way she knew was to distract herself.

"I've thought about it for a while. Okay, sure, most of that thinking was done with a couple bottles of whiskey, but I think I know where this is going." While Benny seemed to feel the need to pack multiple items in a battered suitcase, Lola had no such need. Ideally, she wanted to get in and get out swiftly enough ... truthfully, she would probably need a pulse gun at the very least. How had he so delicately put it in his note to her? That she had forced his hand? Well, she certainly sympathized with that perspective now; perhaps the run-in with the Legion had forced her hand, too, because she was eager to do this ... but if there was one thing that Arcade had quietly slipped her as they had staggered back across harsh ground, then it was the most important item, the thing that had started it all for her.

"You planning on doing this drunk, too, baby?" She rolled her eyes as she listened to the clasps snap shut on the suitcase.

"I plan on doing this my way," She crossed her arms across her chest, marveling at how good it felt to be wearing her own clothes once again. "Because it's the only way we really have. Nobody's allowed up into the Penthouse but me ... so either I do what's gotta be done, or it never happens." She could tell by the somewhat stymied look upon his face that she had exceeded his expectations – an eternity away from the woman who had been hugging herself in a thin, silk gown the night before, and she had to take control. It was not that she did not trust his words, though questioned why she should, but she thought of this as insurance rather than anything else, and if anything at all went wrong, she still had the Chip, that little element of control that meant he was not free to do as he pleased just yet. She raised an eyebrow as he gathered up the suitcase, every inch the businessman ... one who would probably have to hide under a bed or something until this phase of the plan was complete. She wasn't going to tell him that just yet.

"Well, baby doll ... I can't say I don't like it when you take control." She nodded, noting how she was the one making the way out of the room this time, leading, unsure of how she would take the open expanse of corridor when it was set against the safety of four walls. She also realized how little she felt like she could truly depend on anything he said, still, after what she regarded as all they had been through. She always had had a penchant for being in complicated relationships, of the few committed ones she had actually been in ...

"Pretty sure I can show you how well I do that later on tonight," She grinned, tying her hair in a rough knot at the back of her head as they walked. Best not to give too much away ... although there _was_ something she was still eager to find out. "You know what? Who was it that actually finished off Caesar?" They were barely into the elevator as she asked, but it gave him ample opportunity to pause. This time, she actually felt the need to look at him when he answered her, as though he was willing to withhold something, or claim false heroism.

"You think I wasn't busy enough, doll?" Again, she raised her eyebrows, leaning against the far wall of the elevator as it descended the floors, one at a time, not stopping between the thirteenth and the first.

"I think word might have gotten out. So who did it? Boone?"

"Kind of quiet cat? With the shades and the beret?"

"The one with the rifle and the _real_ thirst for Legion blood, yeah," She didn't pause to consider the look in his eyes, as though he was trying to select a suitable assassin because he did not know the answer. She was not _that_ stupid ... he would have known who came to the Fort alongside him, and he would have known who was missing as the gunshot was fired. It was easy enough to deduce the killer from there. "Cass, then?"

"Redhead broad with the temper?"

"That's the one," He shook his head. Lola already knew that it could not have been Veronica, she had been the one to fix her collar, but then that only left ... "Holy shit."

"I forget his name, doll, but-"

"I got it," It made perfect sense. The one to slip her the Chip had been the one to deliver the final blow. Ironic, strange, and not the kind of thing she would have expected from him at all; this aside, she was sure that Boone was arguing it out as much as he wanted right now, how his kill ... had gone to someone else. "Arcade ... who woulda thought it?" She grinned to herself, satisfied with the conclusion as the elevator ground to a halt. She was trying to imagine it, but somewhere, it did not seem to fit, or at least not so much as it might have had Boone been the one to deliver the fatal shot. It was amusing, though; the thought of him charging in there with his plasma pistol at the ready was an image she was not going to forget anytime soon.

"Hold up, doll." Not now. She didn't have time for stupid games now, not when they were so close to the exit it was … Lola sighed heavily and turned on her heel, figuring that if she could shut him up quickly, it would be that much better for her.

"What?"

"Didn't you think for a second that I'd be the one to rough him up?" Apparently, the involuntary grin that appeared on her face said it all for her. She watched him shake his head, looking as though he was going to reach for Maria, but he seemed to forget the gesture as soon as he made it. "I'm a decent enough scrapper, you know, baby." Another grin. It was not exactly as though it was something she could help.

"No offense, Ben-man, but a lot of the things I've seen you do suggest otherwise." She was, of course, talking about the fact that he had failed to kill her. The fact that he had hired the Khans to beat her into submission for him first. The fact that he had not even been able to infiltrate the Fort without getting caught. She didn't want to deny him the fact that he could aim and shoot a pistol when he needed to, but she had only seen him do it on two separate occasions. She made to continue walking, hoping to get out onto the Strip this time, but he caught her wrist before she could.

"I'm no fink, pussycat. How else d'you think I got to being the boss?" True … and she was not so dumb as to have forgotten that charming tale he had told her about ramming a knife into the former tribe leader's neck. He had gone on about it enough times for it to last her a lifetime by now, and she was not really willing to hear it again.

"I get it. You're pretty decent in a fight, but … well, the Strip softened me up in just a few weeks. The gambling, the drinking, and yes the fucking because I figure you probably know about it. So what d'you think it did to you, I mean … you've been here longer than I have." She gave him a meaningful glance, not really sure of what she intended the meaning behind it to be, but hoping it would either communicate her point, or else just distract him long enough for her to be able to wrench her wrist free. It worked well enough. Of course he would think himself much better at fighting than he actually was – she had met his type before, and while none of them had been quite as memorable, the arrogance didn't bother her much. Arrogance was something she could look past. Hell, she was ready to believe she was willing to look past just about anything because most of it did not even come close to being shot. _I really gotta let go of that … _

"Sorry, pardner, boss doesn't like visitors." Lola rolled her eyes as Victor motioned to Benny.

"He's my guest, Victor. My buddies, up in the Presidential, they'll make sure he doesn't get too out of hand."

"Strict orders, I'm afraid, pardner. He's welcome to mosey on out here 'til you're done, though." Lola knew that no amount of huffing and sighing would appeal to the robot, this time, but like a spoiled brat who could not get her way, she crossed her arms and turned to Benny, keeping her voice low.

"If he says you'll have to wait, you'll have to wait … I don't want to cause any waves before we're even in there. If I'm not out within the hour then feel free to charge in to my rescue but … how hard can it be?" It was his time to laugh in her face, so obviously payback for what she had said in the Tops that Lola had no choice but to take it.

"Pussycat, rest assured House'll only have the craziest tech in there. You sure you can hack it?"

"In more ways than one." She smirked in return, as she proceeded up the steps, not bothering to look back at him. Lovers would have exchanged tender words at the prospect of being separated forever, but Lola had never really thought of she and Benny as lovers. She had always thought of their relationship as something mutually beneficial, an agreement that got them both what they wanted. Love was not worth her time, even if she secretly worried about him; in private, she hoped that he was a much better fighter than she thought he was, that he had more smarts than he projected. But those thoughts were private. It did not mean they were lovers.

Of all the times she could have started to get nervous, it had to be now, when she was walking through those automatic doors, into the casino where a stillness, born of hundreds of years of emptiness, fell upon her, just like it always did. She couldn't bring herself to say anything as she marched in, trying to keep her head held high, because it was something she had taught herself to do; when in doubt, make sure you never look as though you're in doubt. The more that she thought about it, traveling up in an elevator that was almost pristine if still as cold and steely as the rest of the place, the more it sounded like another stupid motto.

She knew that she would have to make a stop first, not seeing fit to carry around her pulse gun and always tending to leave it in the Lucky 38. She wasn't looking forward to this stop, given how she and her companions had parted ways – the fact that she was putting Benny's needs in front of theirs had ruffled a few feathers to say the least.

"Grandma doesn't like you hanging around with that Benny, dear. He's not a very nice man." Lola forced a smile. In some, odd way that she could not understand, she disliked keeping things from the elderly Nightkin; she put it down to the strange fact that Lily could be so warm, in spite of looking as though she was ready to smash inanimate objects with a super sledge at all times. That, and Lola wasn't so sure what it was like to have a grandmother ... as much as she hated to admit it, it was a welcome change.

"Don't worry, Lily. I know how to handle Benny." Exactly how, however, Lily did not need to know. Lola edged past the Nightkin, a frozen smile still on her face as she made it into the master bedroom. Soon enough, she was rifling through the wardrobes where she kept boxes full of ammo, weaponry, and any outfits or disguises she could ever think of. Unfortunately, her habit of storing relevant and irrelevant items alike meant that finding what she actually needed was never an easy task, and so, there she was, rear sticking out of one of the wardrobes while she shoved aside empty 9mm casing and small jars of lead; any debris from the junk she had collected, always thinking it would come in handy in the most menial of ways. Needless to say, it hadn't.

She cursed herself for leaving it here, really, or at least for not separating out the contents she was putting into storage first. It should have gone something like energy weapons, pistols and broken weapons, followed by the ammunition boxes and then the jars of lead, with the clothes falling deftly from spare hangers. She had never really prided herself on her organizational skills, though, so here she was, trying to extract a pulse gun that she could barely even see from months of collective debris.

"Are you okay in there?" She could recognize his tone anywhere, sounding half amused and half concerned. Lola waved a hand back at him, signaling that she was coping, but she knew that this was not enough. Not at all looking forward to the conversation she knew would follow, she backed out of the wardrobe, careful not to hit her head on the way out.

"I was just looking for something," Arcade raised his brows, before pulling a familiar looking pistol from his pocket. "Yeah, that something. How did you-"

"I couldn't help overhearing the conversation you and Benny were holding on our way back from the Fort. I still don't understand why you insist on trusting him." She made to grab the gun, but he withdrew it surprisingly quickly.

"Who said I trust him?" She said it so quickly she almost convinced herself. "Just ... I have my reasons for wanting to go through with this. But to get through it alive, I'm going to need that pulse gun," She held out her hand, as though she was a child pleading with her parent for a toy that had been confiscated, but Arcade seemed reluctant. Once again, he showed her the gun, but did not hand it to her right away, even as she took a step towards him, doing her best to look as though she was pleading with him. Acting ... maybe she should have taken it up full time. "Arcade, please." She felt the cold metal, but his hand was still upon it.

"I want you to make sure that you're doing this for the right reasons. It's easy enough to see that you're a woman who finds power a difficult thing to resist and ... well, if you let it run away with you, I think we'll all be in trouble." Lola nodded, looking as though she understood, but it was not so easy to give her word. Ultimately, she didn't want much out of the situation, but she could not put her finger on exactly why she wanted House out of the way, either, and this should have concerned her. She ignored it.

"I like to think my heart's in the right place," She smiled, tucking the pulse gun into the back of her jeans and folding her arms, just below her chest. "And congratulations on taking Caesar out, by the way. I didn't think it was your style, but if he had to go ..." The smile turned instantly into a grin, and this time, she saw a glimmer of warmth in Arcade's bespectacled eyes.

"Let's just say it's lucky I know my way around and AutoDoc ... but, I daresay you need to be pressing on, right?" Lola nodded, turning away without closing the wardrobe door. It was not so much an awkwardness as the fact that she did not feel as though she could really conceal any more from Arcade – he was perceptive, smart, and she guessed that he could see through her little act already, he was just too polite to say anything. Nonetheless, she was not one to bother with a sentimental goodbye, given that she did not plan to die today.

Even as she looked out over the Securitrons, humming and rolling about like they always did, and examined the console on the wall from the balcony, she did not plan on dying today. Too much to live for, now. She sometimes liked to think that it was willpower that had seen her rise from the grave, and willpower that had made sure she hadn't quite turned into a quivering wreck at the Fort. She didn't much care for it, though. She descended the stairs without trying to cause a riot, although noted how sweaty her palms were getting, how suddenly, she felt much more aware of herself than she ever had been. It wasn't that she was having second thoughts ... but she did not like the look of all those robots, all of them armed with ... something. She hadn't really been paying much attention, and couldn't even recall seeing them attack – at the time, she had gotten lazy enough to rely upon her repute with the NCR to get her intro the Strip.

She descended the stairs. She closed her eyes for a moment as she did so, imagining herself in a gown and heels, not her usual attire or even something she would prefer, but it soothed her a little ... envisioning herself as some mistress with long gloves and beads around her neck, blonde hair curled and face all made up, the way that women looked in posters. The fantasy lasted for only a second as she came to a halt, ignoring House's address, because it would only make things worse.

She felt around in her pocket for the Chip, and withdrew the pulse gun from her jeans ... now, there was no going back.


	12. A Tragedy Has Befallen Mankind

**A/N: **Admittedly, this was all supposed to fit into Chapter 11 ... but it started to get kind of out of hand. =/ kind of a force of habit I guess. Anyways, enjoy. =)

**Chapter Twelve – A Tragedy Has Befallen Mankind**

Alarms ringing in her ears. Voices in her head and outside of it, warnings from the pre-programmed voices of the Securitrons that there was an intruder. How ironic that the first person to be allowed inside the Lucky 38 in hundreds of years was the saboteur, no matter how accidentally this had all occurred.

Lola withdrew the Chip from the first console quickly, slipping past the wall as it gave way to the secret room where she could see two things worth noting: the console at the far end of the room, and the set of elevator doors bearing the Lucky 38 seal. Her basic knowledge of computers told her as much as she needed to know, and her guess would have to be right, because otherwise she risked being filled with bullet holes while she tried the elevator doors.

She knew that she should have stashed more Stealth Boys, but it had never really occurred to her to do it. She wasn't the type to sneak in and out of a place quietly; she was much more likely to make loud noises and set sirens off, and actually be quite messy about the whole deal. She didn't need to count how many times she had been criticized about this, or just become the butt of a joke because she would 'never make a successful assassin' ... yet, here she was, playing the assassin game, knowing her target well and already causing a stir before anyone was actually killed. It was not like she was going to make it her day job, anyway. Just this one little thing and then she could go back to screwing her way out of a jam.

So, instead of equipping a Stealth Boy and running the length of the room, she just ran the length of the room flat out, not so much dodging the bullets as feeling a couple strip past her arms, one of them catching and tearing her shirt. Like she hadn't been through the ringer enough times already, this just topping it off, but she forced herself to grit her teeth and ignore the pain as she activated the computer, pressing the Chip into the slot in the same fashion as she had done before. The options were easy enough to read, too – she clicked over the one that read 'unlock elevator doors', and ignored the warning that she was the unauthorized personnel, watching the space between her and the gang – yes, they had become a gang – of Securitrons. One chance. She would only get one chance to make it to the doors before they surrounded her and shot her dead.

"Fuck," She winced as the bullet hit, just below the first wound, sick and tired of it, now. She slammed her hand against the elevator button and slipped inside, wondering if those Securitrons knew how to operate the elevator itself. Sure, Victor did, but ... she shuddered. She did not want to think about it. Instead, she pressed the only button on the inside wall: up.

As the elevator rattled into motion, Lola slid silently to the floor, still holding the gun in one hand, having not actually needed to use it. She was unnerved by how quickly it had passed, even if she had been studying computing steadily for a while now, it should not have gone so smoothly ... it was not normal for House to allow such a thing. The man who had defended Las Vegas as it had been called then – and she was well aware of how her stomach turned at this thought – was not going to lose his grip and allow anyone into the system. So how had she managed it? Had it been an oversight, or simply misplaced trust? He had not had visitors for years, hundreds of them, so perhaps it was the simple fact that he had never expected anyone to work out how to access the chamber, let alone pluck up the courage to even get close to the consoles that allowed access. And then there was the Chip. Maybe this was what it had pivoted on, all along: the Chip had passed from Victor, toNash (or she had always assumed), to her, to Benny, to Caesar, and back again, and she had not seen fit to pay any visits to House in between, so maybe he had always thought that the Chip would only ever be in his ownership, and the consoles had been designed as such. This, of all the options, seemed the most likely.

As her ride stopped on the designated floor, Lola stayed for a while, allowing it to shudder before finally becoming still with her inside it. She refused to think that she was having any kind of second thoughts at all, even if House was some kind of savior, it was really before her time. There was a reason she had agreed to this in the first place, from the moment Benny had sweet-talked her, a post-coital conversation that had lasted maybe five minutes, not exactly romance but then, the whole affair had been business from the start. If people questioned her on the matter, she would maintain what she had maintained from that night onwards: humankind had to find its own way. Her whole intent was to look after the Strip, see to it that it stayed mostly the same as it had been before, but not to pretend that she was any kind of shining beacon of hope for humanity's survival.

Lola hauled herself to her feet, considering Benny's role in this and forgetting about him quickly. She had other things to do. The doors slid open, and she stepped into the chamber, a blast of cold air hitting her. The ceiling was higher than she had ever seen, but the place was dark, with the only light coming from the glowing green monitor and the container at the end of the room. She didn't need to guess at what was in there, but found her legs shaking as she approached, having forgotten about the pain in her arm until now. Suddenly, it was throbbing that much more painfully, but at least it distracted her from thinking about what she would find inside that container. The inevitability of having to look what was essentially an animated corpse in the eye and kill it.

It was that glowing green screen that well and truly made her feel apprehensive. She felt the need to berate herself over chickening out and not looking when she had had the chance, but as her fingers touched the keys, she was reminded that there was nothing more she could do. She was, instead, typing in a habitual command, legs still shaking from where she had walked almost the entire length of the room to this station, and now, she was dead to everything around her for the few minutes it took the commands to show on the screen. There was only one option. She pressed enter twice and stepped back immediately, watching the container at the end of the room, now.

A violent shiver ran down Lola's spine as she bore witness to it, realizing, for the first time, that she was about to come face to face with the real Robert Edwin House. Steam rose from the coffin-like chamber, the light behind it flashing, a convulsing figure strapped to a board; he was momentarily shrouded by the steam as the board he was upon rose up, out of its coffin, mechanics supporting someone who, she assumed, had once been a major player in political and social games alike.

Now, it was not so. His skin looked papery, dark, but at the same time as though he had lost all color long ago; by contrast, his hair was a stark white, an obvious sign of his age and lack of pigmentation. Lola spent a surprising amount of time focusing on his hair, because it was the one part of Robert Edwin House that looked somewhat normal ... the rest of him almost looked like something that she could never have imagined, the kind of ghoulish characters that had always appeared in pre-War comic books. It was now that she realized how badly she was shaking, almost with the same convulsions as the thing strapped to the table. It was clear that he was being supported by the cybernetic implements that replaced his stomach, his heart, and perhaps most importantly his brain ... he wasn't a man, this much was clear. Still ... whether he was a man or not, there was something helpless about the Mr. House strapped to the board that was, essentially, his life force; there was no way he could harm someone with a strong and single enough mind, intent on killing him. There was no way in which he could harm _her_, and yet, the sight of him alone had been as much of a deterrent as anything else.

"Why ..." Physical sickness came to her, too, not at the decrepit creature that had once been House, but at the fact that she was intending to kill it. Was she really so merciless? "Why ... did you do this?" She didn't have time to explain the truth to him, or at least her beliefs ... but they had to be pretty weak ones if she was so willing to let mercy get in the way of them. She was doing her best to look coldly upon House, arms and legs cuffed to the lifeline in what might once have been a pretentious gesture likening himself to some kind of messiah, eyes almost seeming to roll in their sockets. She had to do this, of course. She knew that there was no going back, if only because House would have the Securitrons kill her the moment she stepped out of the elevator ... instead, she tried to focus on being repulsed by the creature enough to ... well, maybe she didn't have to _kill_ it.

"I have my reasons," Even she was surprised by the calm in her voice, although exactly what those reasons were, she was not so sure of anymore. The only thing that was viable was that she wanted to take Vegas for herself, and the more she repeated the notion in her mind, the worse it sounded. Greed ... that was all it came across as, pure and simple greed, nothing for the betterment of mankind or the survival, or being devoted to any kind of cause. She had been all for the idea, but had never really paused to consider the outcome, or ... this. "We need you out of the way." Saying 'we' also seemed a little strange. It made it sound as though a bond had formed between her and Benny.

"This ... vanity project ... doomed ... to fail." He could barely speak, a development that Lola had been more than willing to overlook until now. It really was pitiful. It was also a little disturbing, a man she assumed had once been successful, powerful, being constrained, now, to a kind of life support of his own creation. If nothing else, he served as a reminder that even the most powerful of men, even the proudest humans could fall far below their station; that even the best laid plans could be disrupted, and eventually destroyed, by someone with enough drive. If there was ever a time to share her beliefs, however, it was now – now, while she was shivering more than she though was possible, confronted by both choice and reason.

"Do you think that's what this is? A vanity project?"

"You ... you're not ... you can't ..." Perhaps he was choking on the air outside his chamber, or perhaps he had forgotten how to speak. At least she was slowly moving past her initial thoughts and the doubts that had followed. Still, the idea that had crossed her mind moments ago lingered, and the more that she thought about it, the more she felt herself torn between the merciful approach, and the quick one. If she left House alive, intact, but disconnected him, he would be little more, perhaps even a little less, than a living organism, unable to move or speak, or control anything. Trapped inside his own mind, he would probably remain there for as long as he could.

"I can. I am. But I could let you go back in there, just ... you won't be able to control anything." The milky eyes that had been rolling in the creature's skull widened in fear in a split second. Fear, or ... yes, the realization of what she had already figured out.

"No!" Almost a screech. Almost. She jolted at the sound of it, but did her best to appear calm, in spite of the fact that her fingers were twitching. She hadn't brought a revolver. There was only one way to end it. "Kill me ... please ... I would rather die ... than ... than ..." Perhaps his frantic pleading had caused him to be unable to speak any more, but Lola had not prepared for it. For so long, she had gotten it into her head that she would have to kill him; of course, this had been without knowing exactly what was waiting for her. She had thought it would be as easy as pressing a button, but ... no ... mercy? Perhaps. That had come into play somewhere. And now, here he was, begging her to kill him when she did not think that she could even bring herself to do that any longer, although the main fault here was that she lacked a pistol.

She didn't dare to glance back at House as she turned, making her way back to the terminal. She would have to do it sooner or later, considering what lay ahead rather than what she would leave behind in this room; Vegas within her grasp, the ownership and the ability to really make a change. She was well aware of how stupid this sounded. The most she would really be able to do would be open up the Lucky 38 again, but this was something she wholly intended to do. If ever there was a time for her to talk – really talk – with Benny, it was now.

Her fingers worked before she even knew what she was doing, two options on the screen but only one that suited her. She closed her eyes the moment that she selected it and … ran.

She locked herself inside the elevator, a strange buzz coursing through her veins, right through to the tips of her fingers and toes, restricting her breathing and dizzying her. Robert Edwin House, the forefather of New Vegas, was there in his metallic tomb, unable to do anything else, and as soon as she wished, she could take it for her own. Technically, it was hers for the taking right now, but she knew that there were a few matters that she had to attend to before she could say that with any semblance of validity. As the elevator rattled to a halt and the doors slid open, she breathed in and out deeply, wondering whether or not she would be attacked the moment she set foot in the penthouse. Nothing seemed to be shooting at her …

No, it was safe. There was, however, an odd kind of mournful stillness that hung in the stale air, and Lola did not like it. This was a new beginning, not a time to embrace the past, but then, what were robots to know of that? They were still waiting for their marching orders, even if it seemed conspicuously as though they were mourning their creator. Lola tried to place the thought at the back of her mind, and instead staggered up the stairs, the pain suddenly returning to her arm in less than a second. Today would be the first time she was able to sleep in that bed that overlooked the Mojave and truly feel at home.

And what a feeling it was, although at some point, as the sun sunk below the horizon and the lights dimmed around her, Lola would later recall losing consciousness for no reason other than that she was exhausted. No, the task had not taken a physical blow on her, but it was almost as though her mind had decided to shut itself off, unable to bear the burden for the night.


	13. Once

**A/N: **You know what this is about. xD a content warning about this chapter, like plenty of others, for some scenes of a sensitive nature (without going into perverse detail). This is more of a contextual chapter, anyway, as I've made reference to it in previous chapters. I just figured it was high time I gave a little bit more of a feel for Lola's past. Feel free to skip if you like. If not, enjoy! =)

**Chapter Thirteen – Once**

"Poor bastards," She raised a bottle of Nuka-Cola in front of her face, legs outstretched on the rough sand beneath her. At intervals, all along the beach, debris was heaped in small mounds that were perfect to hide behind or pick through. She had chosen the spot on purpose, after seeing what had happened to the rest of the people she had been wandering with; behind her was a narrow crevice, just large enough to shield her from view in the nick of time. "Shame they won't be enjoying this sunset with me." It was not a beautiful sunset by any means, however. The sky was a murky gray color, in spite of the fact that it was humid outside, and she could barely even see the sun, but she could appreciate that it was setting.

She heard the yell on the rocks above her. A broken voice, one worn out through screaming and snorting ground up poison glands and trying to get high any which way. Not good news for her, at all, not here and now where ... ah ...

Her foot slipped on something smooth, covering the rocks behind her, just in front of the crevice. The smallest error, the smallest fissure in something that might have been an otherwise flawless plan could cost her her life, because she didn't know how strung out they were. They looked to be like any other raider she had ever encountered: overly sadistic, high on any substance they could abuse and relentless. They would not leave until they had looted her body for everything they could find ... and that was why she had to stay here, hidden between two jagged rocks, a hiding place that was nothing if not easily invaded. The fact that she heard brittle bones cracking beneath her feet was testament to that.

"We know you're in there, girly," His voice was more of a growl than anything else, cracked by drug abuse and dripping with the kind of misplaced pleasure only a raider could find. A large carving knife glinted at the cave entrance, obscuring the thin strip of dim light that did not quite extend to where Lola was. Dressed in makeshift armor, worn out, rusted metal and spikes on his shoulders, hair sticking up in a ridiculous fashion, albeit one she was familiar with. She saw their grimy faces poking through the gloom before she even had time to register that they had found her, the carving knife swiping at her limbs.

"Please don't kill me." She clapped a hand over her mouth the moment she was done with her words; the exact same moment as they burst into peals of raucous laughter, enthralled, even excited by her fear.

"I guess we can work out a trade-off, girly." She hated that leer with such venom, as though she had never felt real hatred before. This was not true, of course. Back at the Den ... a wave of nausea hit and he was reaching for her, the small space barely large enough for the two of them to fit in, grasping for any part of her he could reach – it did not matter which, because she knew that all he wanted to do was get her out in the open.

For some reason, the evening air caused her to shiver, even though it was a warm, evening; it would have been still and relaxing, too, had she not just been dragged from her hiding place by a stranger with brutal intent. He dropped his knife to his side and she fell, face down in the gritty sand, closing her eyes just before she hit, but unable to ignore the sharp fragments of stone and shell piercing her face and neck.

"Looks like we got ourself a sweet piece here, boys," As she hauled herself to a sitting position, she counted the pairs of legs she saw around her. Six. There were six of them – she had no hope of escaping now, knowing that they would pursue her for as long as they could. She didn't have to give up, but fighting seemed like it would be useless right about now, too. She closed her eyes, trying to shut herself off from what was happening around her, but she could hear their voices, their comments, their drug-addled ramblings about her breasts, her hips ... what was underneath those clothes. She was used to men, used to their comments, used to how so many regarded women and ... how, eventually, she had been regarded at the Den. A liar, a snake, a sinner, she had lost track of the words they had hurled at her, but considered that, perhaps, this was her punishment for all of those things and more. And what a way to be punished.

She winced as he grasped her hair, not quite dragging her to her feet but instead forcing her to a position on the ground.

"We've decided not to kill you, girly." Small comfort. She didn't have to guess at what came next, wondered for the split second it took them to decide who would go first whether she would have preferred a knife through the chest and a gunshot to the side of her head, or this. It was answered soon enough; filthy hands and foul breath, murmurs of passing 'round the Psycho and musings over whether or not there were any more canisters of Jet. And she was supposed to survive after this? She was supposed to live on with the smell, the feeling, the taste ... she closed her eyes before she was able to witness it, too, deciding that if there was anything she never needed to see, it was this. Her limbs were shaking and she wanted to scream, but she kept her mouth shut tightly, not needing to give them any help. It was a wonder they managed it, really. All the drugs they must have been taking ... she really was surprised. Just not surprised enough to numb the reality of what they were doing. Not surprised enough to numb her body either, focus out the feeling of rough, lacerated hands, the sting of salt in her wounds. Not enough to stop her from feeling the evening breeze that hit at every inch of her bare skin, another onslaught reminding her of her position.

She knew that there had been six of them at one point, but they were raiders: relentless. They didn't stop when she vomited, or nearly collapsed. Fragments of bone, remainders of long dead creatures, cut into her face, and Lola grasped at the sand beneath her, not sure of why she was even doing it any longer. She was bordering on the insane, thinking of giving up and lying still, letting them get it over and done with; she needed reasons not to do that, needed to be reassured that she would be fine when this was over. Yet, who was she kidding? She would not be fine for a long time after this. And to think ... she had been so intent on scavenging her way to survival.

She could hear the grunting, raucous male laughter and the sound of Jet canisters being opened. Yelling at her, telling her to buck her hips faster, put more effort in, move for him, give them a show. One of the six had taken a liking to yanking her head back by her hair; another had pinned her down and forced her to look up at his grimy face. She remembered him because by the end of it, he had had tears in his eyes and she had found him pathetic, though not as pathetic as she found herself. And then there was the one that had trapped her in the first place. He liked to use his fists against her limbs, forcing her into submission and then inflicting more pain on top of that. He truly made her stomach turn over, nausea and screams of pain at the same time.

"You spent, Rook?" A name. That was the last thing she could have needed – learning his name almost made it seem as though he was human, and she refused to connect him in any way to her. He was just an obstacle, a creature, something sent to throw her off balance. Unfortunately, he had been quite effective in doing this. She was so off balance she feared she might not get up again and ... no, she couldn't allow it. She felt the nausea hit again, knowing exactly why it did, holding back but barely as she was allowed to collapse onto the sand.

She couldn't quite make out all of the sounds above her; voices, certainly, and the metallic thumps of armor being replaced. She could hear them padding about in the sand, apparently convinced that she was no longer conscious, even as she opened one eye in time to notice the arm beside her, a blade in his hand, leaning down ... maybe it was fear that caused her to react, or perhaps seeing the knife, knowing what came next. She was too weak to do any real damage to him, anyway, but grabbing his wrist seemed like enough of a shock to convince him she was serious ... or as serious as she could be.

"_Bitch,_" She didn't much care for the venom in his voice as his hand writhed, barely gripping the knife ... she gasped. The blade slipped, catching the side of her neck as it did so, but Lola did not pause to watch the droplets of blood stain the grit beneath her. They would attack soon enough, no doubt ... she had to get to her feet before they did.

She squeezed his wrist ever tighter, digging in her fingernails, grateful for once that she had not fully taken to biting them when she had had the chance. It was all she needed for him to let go ... yes, _let go_ ... her right hand shot out to grab the blade the moment it left his grasp, but there was little else she could do with it, thinking only to plunge the metal into his forearm, watch as he reeled backwards, and recover – how else was she supposed to make bastards like this one pay? Like the whole lot of them, really. And she had to admit, feeling his blood seep out onto the back of her hand felt better than she could have ever conceived.

"Looks like we didn't teach this pretty bitch enough of a lesson." She felt as though she would recognize his voice for an eternity, now; that was something she had to end. If, some day in another part of the country, in another village or town, she heard that voice creeping behind her ... no, she had to make sure he never spoke again. He had a pistol, she had a humble knife, but right now, it made no difference. She had never thought of herself as merciless. Then again, nobody else had really given her reason to _be_ merciless. It wasn't cold enough for her to be shivering, and yet, she found herself doing it anyway, perhaps an inevitable reaction as something – she did not know what – gently crept up her spine, threatening to paralyze her if she did not do what she had to do.

Six of them. Six of them and one of her, all of them armored, packing some kind of heat, but this didn't really matter to Lola. She staggered forward, a puppet, a detached shell that had once been human, with the knife in her hand and hatred in her eyes. There was only one way out of this, and either they died, or she did. She was more than a petty raider, she was sure of it ... it didn't make any sense for her to have to die, when these men, if they could be called that, had not done anything to warrant living. To her, they had no past, no present, no future.

Him, the one who had spoken to Rook, asked him if he was done with her, charged – she could see the blood seeping down his arm – and perhaps it was shock at the outcome, or perhaps she was taking a simple moment to relish in her triumph, but she saw his eyes widen, heard him moan out quietly in pain, the knife embedded in his stomach.

"How does it feel?" She hissed in his ear, more cruelty in her voice than she had ever thought she would hear. "How does it feel to not be able to do anything about it?" Inside, his intestines were writhing, muscles tensing and relaxing around the blade where it had penetrated. She had not gone that deep – she had not reached his stomach, hit any vital organs ... and that was how it occurred to her. His eyes pleaded with her, but her body had pleaded with him, and he had not shown her any mercy. Struggling against the taped handle of the blade, Lola began to force it upwards, hearing him and seeing the crimson, hitting all of her marks. The sound of him screaming, begging her not to do it, to let him live would have been excruciating had Lola never had a cause to do this.

She withdrew the blade, an explosion of red, crimson, a metallic taste and a smell she could not quite place, because she had never before been drenched in the stuff. A bullet skimmed the top of her head, but Lola only stumbled back, unsure of herself in all of a second, the time it took for his body to crumple in front of her eyes and for him to clutch at his gut in futility, entrails writhing out instead of staying in.

His comrades didn't seem all that afraid of her, though. A bullet hit her leg, and she almost let go, almost allowed herself to fall back into nothingness and wait for her eventual fate, but how could she allow them to win like that? If it was her time, it would not be on their terms.

In front of her, he was not quite glaring but his eyes were bulging, strung out and insane on the substances; he would drag her around by her hair and knock out her teeth one by one if he could. He would cut off her fingers and toes, and wait for her to scream before he let her have it. He was not human, something he had proven multiple times since the start of this, but only now did panic fill Lola; the kind of panic that, rather than paralyzing her, caused a reaction she could never even have predicted.

If it was possible for his eyes to bulge any further out of his skull, this proved it.

If it was possible for him to look stunned and malicious at the same time, then it was that expression he was wearing as he fell back.

Lola hadn't quite expected the knife to embed itself in his forehead like that. She hadn't quite expected him to reach for it in some hope of withdrawing the weapon and continuing on. She hadn't expected it to lodge itself in so deeply that she could barely see the rusted steel, and within the space of perhaps sixty seconds, it was clear that he was dead. Rook, a name she would always remember, and the sound of his grunts, the feel of his fists against her face and back and neck. But at least he would not be able to do it again.

She didn't care if the other four came for her. She slumped down onto the sand, hearing footsteps digging into it, getting further and further away. Another thing about raiders: seventy percent or more of them were terrible cowards. None of them were the kind to die with pride. But then ... the killing would have stopped at some stage, anyway, and Lola's shoulders sagged, not in disappointment, but both relief and exhaustion.

She couldn't bring herself to sleep.


	14. Don't Say It

**A/N: **I'm thinking of the possibility of writing the Battle into this, although I don't know how effective an account of the events could be; it could be interesting given Lola's past encounters with the Legion, but at the same time, it could turn out kind of boring. xD Initially, this was going to be one of the final chapters, but now, not so sure. xD enjoy! =)

**Chapter Fourteen – Don't Say It**

"Fuck," She gasped, eyes wide as she tried to back away from him.

"What d'you think I'm trying to do, doll?" It was so like him to turn her words into a kind of thinly veiled euphemism, but Lola didn't care about that at present – she had expected this for a long time, but like to many other things, it shocked her anyway. There were many things she had always willed herself not to do, and so many times she ended up doing them anyway, but this … this was different.

"I think …" She both wanted to tell him, and didn't, privately trying to think of what the outcome would be if she did, and if she did not. She was fine with the set up they had – she could also kid herself into thinking that she was fine, even when the time came and she was not. She could go on with them being a strange partnership, not quite together, but relying on what the other brought to the table. She was not about to assume that she was the brains of the operation; she was just the charisma, charm, the body that would keep the place running. He was the mind made for business. "I think I feel something." The grin that spread across her face surprised her, instantly, too. Perhaps it was at how stupid it sounded once she had said it – she had not said the right words, just dared around what she was trying to say.

"Say what, pussycat?" It was too late for her to give any kind of normal response, however. Already, Lola was bent double, shoulders shaking with the first semblance of laughter, mirth, unable to believe that she had said it. Pathetic, desperate, as though she was trying to play some kind of practical joke on him … whatever it was she had said, it had certainly not come out right.

"I don't even know," She breathed as she laughed, wheezing a little. It felt as though it had been so damn long since she had laughed; a genuine, warm gesture rather than the usual frosty smirk she was so used to giving. Even though she was laughing at her own pitfall, her own stupid mistake, she could barely comprehend how good it felt to be able to do it. It was a world away from how she had been, a little over a week ago, vomiting in her cell on the rare occasion she was allowed back. Clawing so hard at the dry ground she thought her fingernails might all snap off, and considering giving it all up. "I don't know why I said that." All the while, Benny was stumbling backwards until he finally hit the foot of the bed, falling back on it and looking both lost and bewildered.

"What can I say, doll? I'm-" She held up her hand and shook her head as she did her best to recover, breathing deeply, her face bright red from the laughter.

"You're stunned," She answered for him, face falling. "You're trying to figure out how this happened, and how it happened so fast. You're wondering if you should turn tail and run right now, and never come back, and I wouldn't blame you if you did because I'm thinking I might do the same." Even if he wasn't talking so much, that shut him up completely. He stared at her, with his mouth half open, slack, as though he was no longer able to use his jaw muscles.

"I guess you could call it that." Lola nodded grimly at the response, refusing to come any closer to the bed. She had to wonder why she even bothered staying in the penthouse – it was a dead room, the only real sound being the whirring of the Securitrons' internal components, and if not, her moans filling the vacuum. There was no real sign of any life in there, though. There was no sign of anyone having lived there in the past two hundred years, which she supposed was only right given the fact that nobody _had _lived there in that time.

She drifted past Benny, purposefully ignoring him as she did so, not so much an act of cruelty as one of awkwardness. There might have been a time when she would have enjoyed torturing him, but now … for some reason, right now she couldn't get it to feel the same.

"What changed you, pussycat?" She stopped, half way through the motion of pulling on her gown. She noticed he was grinning, out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn't bring herself to move with the same lucidity as she normally did.

"Nothing _changed_ me." She snapped, knowing that this was not so true. Her capacity for the lighthearted torture she had so enjoyed subjecting him to had been significantly decreased, and neither of them had to guess why. It no longer seemed like such an entertaining prospect, but she had deserted so much more than that. It was not just that she had become a little more scrupulous with her actions – it was almost as though she had completely forgotten how to have a good time. There was a girl who slept around for pleasure and to gain the upper hand; a girl who enjoyed twisting everything she could to result in sharing a mattress, table, chair, anything with another guy or even another girl. Then there was the Lola she no longer recognized anymore; the one who felt nauseous when she knew he was about to orgasm and felt the need to run away and hide all the time. Something had changed her. She grasped the satin belt of her robe violently and tied it in a rough knot.

A door slammed. Lola threw herself down onto the turquoise duvet, the dark room bringing her more solace than the high windows staring out over Freeside. She reached into the drawer next to the bed, pulled out the glass bottle and unscrewed the cap without a second thought.

The vodka burned in her throat, fumes like any other chemical, although this was less likely to harm her than swallowing down detergent. It had all gone to hell; she had never _meant_ to tell Benny that she had feelings for him, and she had never _meant_ to push him away, and she had never _meant_ to cause as much general chaos as she had done. She had been quite happy living her lackluster life of screwing, getting paid, and signing on to the occasional delivery. She had been quite satisfied with slipping further and further into the kind of obscurity that meant that she could get away with what she wanted when she wanted it. All of this was accidental, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that any longer.

"Damn it all." She muttered, aware that nobody could hear her as she swallowed down more of the clear liquid. Here, she was faced with a life of constantly being on tenterhooks, entering into the kind of politics she only had a basic understanding of. Sure, she should have left House at the head of New Vegas, because it would have been a much better outcome for the Strip, and for everyone on it. All that glittered was rather tempting, however; it had the ability to draw her in, time and time again. Sleeping in the back room of dingy bars that were falling down around her ears got tiring after a while, especially when she feared the wall might give in once they were pounding against it.

Yet, she had committed herself like some kind of a fool in love. By admitting to that undoubtedly stupid emotion, she had bound herself to something she had never before wanted to be bound to. Hers would never be a pre-War kind life, the things that didn't exist any longer save for in gaudy posters painting a picture of 'family. She wasn't the woman who appeared in the sugary commercials for detergent, and the only way in which she could be a poster girl for Abraxo Cleaner was if she was advertising it as hair color. She would never have kids – she could never have kids – and that pre-War concept called marriage was really a strange notion.

"Pussycat," She almost hurled the bottle at the wall, more shock than anything else.

"Go on, split," She called back, not ready to retort with a double-edged comeback. She wasn't ready to run into his arms just yet.

"You might want to come hear this for yourself, doll," If he was going to bring her some salvation, she didn't want it. Hearing 'I love you' from his lips would yield nothing because she was sure it would sound so terribly false. It was just who he was. A note commending her on her sexual prowess ended with him warning her not to follow him. A rescue from the Legion ended with her subtle warning that she was still in control.

"I'm not interested," She downed another mouthful of vodka and rolled over onto her side, the intent to fall asleep there, but the ability gone. She heard a vague sigh, strange, not at all like the man on the other of the door. It wasn't like him to give up so easily, either, but she meant what she had said – she wasn't interested.

"It's about those Legion cats." She sat bolt upright, the vodka bottle forgotten on the pillow. She didn't exactly count how long it took her to make her way to the door, but when she opened it, sure enough, there he was.

"I thought we were done with them." He didn't respond right away, leaving her guessing, waiting for the next crucial snippet of information. Perhaps on some level, she had always known that she would have to face the Legion again, the knowledge always there that the unit on the other side of the Colorado River would attack. She had not expected it to happen so quickly, however.

"Caesar was just the start," She watched as Benny wheeled about, trying to mark the disembodied voice that sounded behind him. The sniper ignored him, speaking directly to Lola from behind his shades, and unreadable look upon his face. Boone knew the Legion. Even if Benny did not want to listen, he would have to. "Sons of bitches had a battle plan all along, even before they saw us coming." His arms were folded across his chest, the same, unreadable expression present upon his face.

"Leaders need their second in command," Lola muttered underneath her breath. "It's just good sense." Good sense or not, however, it was not exactly good news for them. Of course, the battle had been decided long ago, as had exactly who would be participating in it – whispers, murmurs of the conflict had barely even reached her ears before she had been shot down. Even amidst all of them, she had never really expected to be involved to heavily in it, let alone in this way. She noticed as Boone nodded briskly, glancing momentarily from her to Benny as though he was still trying to calculate their relationship – hell, she was still trying to calculate it herself.

"Yes Man wanted to have a jaw with you," Benny's voice was far quieter than she was used to, and for a moment, Lola considered that it might only have been in Boone's presence. It only made sense that Benny hardly trusted anyone who carried a gun, even more so considering Boone was such a good shot with it. There was no point in pretending that the leader of the Chairmen was so self-involved he had never bothered to learn what that red beret meant. He must have met with Manny at some point … the connection was all too clear. Maybe he was intimidated, too, by the idea that she had people who were willing to rally around her when she needed them. To call them 'friends' was a long shot. There was some kind of strange connection, but she was not so sure that she wanted to call it friendship just yet. Nonetheless, it was probably more love than Benny had been shown in recent years.

Lola pulled the gown more tightly around her form, flicking her hair out of her face as she did so. Benny, eager to leave the room, it seemed, was already half way towards the elevator, but Lola instead turned to Boone, ever as enigmatic and unreadable, although she was sure she saw it for a split second – a desperation, or some manner of pleading. He wanted to be the one to put a bullet in Lanius' head no doubt. He had already lost out on killing Caesar.

"When I know how this is going down, I'll give the word," She assured him, before turning her back on him, never so sure of why she did it anymore. Desertion was just her way of disconnecting herself from as many trials as the more demure moments.

There always had been something sinister about that face. Cheerful, a perpetual smile that only moved when the screen flickered, and now that it was ten times larger, Lola felt the urge to shiver. Benny didn't move, some of his usual confidence having returned, apparently at seeing the artificial intelligence that had been so helpful to him as the master of the tower. Lola didn't like it, however. While she needed some way to control the Securitrons, she would have liked a little more control over Yes Man, which did not seem at all possible, now.

"Hi there, good to see you," He was _programmed_ to say that, of course. Once or twice, she had considered that her suspicions had been unfounded, but she still did not like the mantle he had taken up. If ever he turned – _could_ he turn? Either way, she didn't have a good feeling about it. It was as though there was something lurking, just below the surface, just beyond the horizon, a threat to her. Perhaps it would be wiser to run while she still could, assume another kind of identity and disappear from the Mojave altogether. Benny could have his tower and his Strip and all his cash, and she could have her freedom. Then she thought about what she had said, how it felt like an eternity ago even though the words were fresh in her head. She thought about how she had laughed. She couldn't leave him in the lurch like this, but still, the thought of running was not exactly unappealing …

"What's the state of play, pal?" She narrowed her eyes, if only slightly, as Benny spoke. _Sure, go on, do all the talking … we're screwed._ All the while, she was starting to have second thoughts, and yet she knew she could not turn away now. The final stage was ready to begin.

"Caesar's Legion is gathering its forces. They're due to attack at any time!" Lola marveled at how cheerful Yes Man could sound while delivering such information. She wanted to stop thinking about how the Securitron – not that he took on the form of one any longer – might have had ulterior motives, even if they were not his own, in order to appreciate the gravity of the statement. There was no way in which to avoid the fact that she was not ready for this. There was no way she could tell him that she had changed her mind, that she was not going to _bother_ holding the Dam, because regardless of power, of status, and of the risk the Legion posed to the West, she did not want to make contact with the Legion again, even if she would be killing its troops.

"I guess we got no choice." She refused to stare up at the screen, even now, instead looking down at her feet, arms folded in a gesture that could easily have been interpreted as sullen. She spoke quietly, and carefully at the same time, trying to suppress the edge to her voice so that her displeasure would not be so obvious.

"Are you ready to go to the dam now?" At this, Lola was finally forced to look up, glancing over at Benny rather than at Yes Man She shook her head gently, trying to make her feelings on the situation perfectly clear in spite of what she had just said. Yes, she had no choice, and she would go eventually. But she could not go just yet, not like _this_. Fuck it if the Legion had already reached the dam, the NCR's forces were large enough to hold it on their own for quite some time, and besides, she had the strangest feeling that she was not going to be going there in order to hold it. There was something else to all of this. Putting suspicions on what that something could be, Lola turned away from the screen, making her way swiftly towards the stairs. She had no choice, she knew this well enough … she also knew that she could not afford to wait so long before enacting the final phase of the plan, the battle that had been such a long time coming. Barely even looking back over her shoulder as she reached the top of the staircase, she paused on the spot, choosing her words cautiously.

"Not yet. There's something I need to do first."


	15. Balance of Power, III

**AN: **Fairly short chapter here, still deciding on the direction following this. Some gore in this chapter (I've been reading too much Battle Royale …) and some possible mature content, but not too graphic, I hope. =)

**Chapter Fifteen – Balance of Power, III**

It wasn't really an image of war that was burned into her mind. The whole damn thing had been so convoluted up until now, the sneaking around and the shooting, trying to handle the heavier artillery, because she had not thought, for one second that she would be able to screw her way out of this one. Part of her had been hesitant about that approach, too, seeing as how she had uttered the words she had never thought she would say. Those final moments before the dawn, hands intertwined and heads on the pillow, and she had whispered three stupid words that she couldn't take back, now.

Her ears, however, were ringing. She couldn't even begin to fully comprehend the array of sounds that she had been met with, even upon arrival – the chattering of gunshots, the rumbling, arresting sound of explosives, and above all else, screams, cries, men and women yelling to their subordinates and enemies; expressing pain when they were shot, when they lost a limb, when they knew that they were about to die.

Lola had walked through this, a stranger, disconnected from the world of pain around her. She had made footprints with the blood of soldiers, and the blood of Legionaries alike. She had seen one helping another and tying fabric tightly around his stump of an arm, the rest of the limb having been taken clean off. She had seen more than her fair share of disembodied, hands, feet, the chunks of flesh that littered the concrete; she was growing increasingly used to the sight of decapitated corpses, too, or fragments of skull and cranial matter that had been shot at from point-blank range. One or two of them were probably deaths she had been responsible for, but it was not as though she recorded those.

Fire inside the dam and out of it. The hum of lasers warming up, and a volley being fired. Missiles and lead, and then … there was no other way to describe the ordinance raining down from the sky. In spite of fearing that her eardrums would burst from the chaotic noise, the giant vehicle that had surfaced from Lake Mead swooping down overhead, Lola recalled how her face had broken into a momentary smile of triumph before she had proceeded onwards, anti-materiel rifle at the ready if hell to carry.

Yet, she had walked almost silently through it all. She recalled the dusk as she had forced open the gate to the Legate's Camp, barely even fortified as though they had been expecting a guest. Her body had stiffened while her limbs shook and she numbed herself to the world around her as their bullets came; still silent as she raised her rifle and shot at each of them, the bastards taking more than three or four shots to die, but going down all the same. She had never wanted to stop and curiously examine how they had died, how the bullets had blasted clean through the back of their heads and necks. The Legate had come at her quickly, anyway. Sneered at the fact that she was a woman … perhaps it was those comments that had pushed her into doing this.

Lola looked around the compound, unable to believe that the head of the NCR's armed forces would reside in such a place, even if it was only a makeshift home for him while the storm passed over. She might have expected a king-sized bed and the kind of velveteen sheets that were ever-present in Vegas. Reminders of his military status and how he had progressed through each rank to reach the one he was at.

But none of these things were present. The walls were bleak, gray, and the concrete was cracked, presumably from when the bombs had fallen. It was a room with a high ceiling and floors made of the same concrete as the walls, a makeshift bed in the corner on a metal structure that looked as though it would collapse at any given moment. Outside, the bombings and gunshots, calls of the Legion and NCR troopers alike disturbed the compound that was hardly a world away from the battle. The bed creaked with every movement, not that it seemed to disturb _him_, and for the first time, Lola truly felt the need to question her motives.

This didn't happen to her. She didn't question her own judgment when she was doing what she did best. Maybe Benny would have her head for this, or maybe he wouldn't care, satisfied with the outcome because all it meant was power. She didn't know. Even if he didn't feel as though she was betraying him, she could not help the feeling that crept through her, settling eventually although never going away. At the end of this, she would have achieved what she wanted to achieve – spurred on by the taunts of the Legion, the reminders of what they had done to her, maybe she had wanted to prove that she was still capable, that she was still her old self after all.

"Well, you're quite the live wire, aren't you?" And here she had taken to praying that he would not bother opening his mouth. It had worked fairly well until this point, but like plenty of others, it was probably a signal of how close he was getting. Benny was just as bad at times, unable to shut the hell up while she was busy. Occasionally, he would comply to her supposed 'rules' but this was not often, and only when he could see that he was upsetting her. She shook back her hair, putting it out of her mind and focusing on the situation at hand.

"Can't keep up?" The smirk was false, just like every word that had come out of her mouth since arriving at the dam. Not too much longer, now. A few more minutes and it would be done; she could walk away with her army in tow, safe in the knowledge that, at least for the time being, Vegas belonged to her. Safety was another matter, but by the time that things really started to heat up again, she figured that she would be long gone. It never had been her intention to stay for a particularly long while – while that time frame had been extended, she would still not be there forever. Nobody else knew this but her.

The distance in her eyes was undeniable, however; a listlessness that she hoped he had not yet become aware of. It was almost time for her to start acting, hoping and praying … she could not allow herself to think of the Fort. She could not allow herself to react – it had happened too many times already and now, when she was just about to close the deal, she could not afford to ruin it. She was not in Legion hands, here. She had elected to do this, chosen this path of her own accord and was not subject to anyone else's will, least of all Caesar's. The Legion would be the least of her worries for quite some time, and this surprised her, because she had expected them to come after her, guns blazing at it were. Perhaps the sudden compliance should have unnerved her.

Lola threw her head back, a routine exercise rather than a gesture of feeling by now. She knew only to do it because of the way in which he was acting, something she was not exactly willing to pay a great deal of attention to. Some men were not attractive when they reached those vital stages of sex, and she had seen more than her fair share of this type; usually, they just snorted like animals, which wasn't so surprising, but sometimes, when they screwed up their faces and yelled strange, incongruous phrases ... yes, there had to be a reason why she had grown so comfortably into the habit of closing her eyes, regardless of whether she was faking it or not. She had even met one or two who had, astoundingly, started crying, reassured her that it wasn't _her_ fault, oh no, it had just been so ..._intense_. Lola didn't have much time for men like that.

She didn't pause to make comments as she seized up her clothing, pulling her undergarments on roughly with her back turned to the General, left lethargic on his bed. That suited her just fine; she could get out, only bothering to blow a kiss his way as she proceeded, watching his army retreat from the dam already. Warfare ... it wasn't something she knew all that much about. She knew of slaughter and persuasion, of the reasons why people went to war, but her vision of triumph was not one of standing over a mound of corpses, holding a flag, a symbol of a nation she may or may not have cared about. A thought flashed through her mind and was gone as quickly as it had come – the flag of the Old World, carried above his head. They had never really seen eye-to-eye on that. Nonetheless, her vision was one of being entwined in bedsheets, a mess of tangled limbs and tousled hair. She couldn't afford a dramatic change just yet.

Sure enough, the sea of glowing screens awaited her as she stepped out of the compound, looking out across the Colorado River for only a second. Trench coats and riot armor, the veterans milled around too, looking significantly lost in the absence of their commander, who was apparently drunk on pheromones, or something of that ilk. They didn't have to be any of her concern. She turned, looking towards the city lights she had come to know, and maybe even love, pausing only as the robot rolled up to her, face still chilling her through.


	16. Please, Baby, Please

**A/N: **Yeesh, I think this is the longest I've taken between updates. x_x huge apologies; college has been pretty stressful lately, and I really haven't had much time to focus on anything other than assignments and exams. x_x Easter break's here, though, so hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of things ... have to admit, I've been feeling a little creatively drained lately, too ... this chapter's taken longer than expected to write and re-write. Anyways, on with the show; this chapter's a little more sexually explicit, or at least, I feel like it is ... I tend to digress when I'm writing sex scenes anyhow. xD Though, kinda nearing the end now, I feel. A sequel may be on its way, supposing I can make it interesting enough. :) enjoy! :)

**Chapter 16 – Please, Baby, Please**

Distraction. Yeah, that was just the ticket, just what she needed, and she'd been making sure there was plenty to distract her since the battle. Since the victory. Since the deed. The best part was, Benny was none the wiser about what had happened, because as far as anyone around was concerned, the only thing that had happened between her and Oliver was polite conversation – the kind that ensured her rule over Vegas.

A small smirk crossed Lola's lips as she considered it. The General would probably be ruined if he told anyone, so her secret was safe with him. It also looked a lot better on her part that he had walked out of there without a single _visible_ scratch on him.

"Never had you pinned for the domestic type, doll." She jerked out of the moment swiftly, side-stepping some of the diluted Abraxo mix she had cooked up as it splashed on the floor. Not strong enough to bleach the carpet, luckily – the two-hundred-year-old upholstery was most probably irreplaceable. She raised an eyebrow, Benny approaching with his usual swagger that she knew she could destroy with only a few words, if ever she wanted to.

"Pretty sure there's a difference between cleaning dinner tables and cleaning blackjack tables," She grinned, eyeing the cigarette in his hand carefully. "Ashtrays are still on the bar."

"Kind of what I wanted to have a jaw with you over, actually, baby,"

"Ashtrays?" Of course not, but she knew what was coming next. For a good week, he had been voicing the same ... well, she supposed they were concerns. The root of it more likely came down to the paranoia of the Lucky 38 making more caps than the Tops, if only because everyone would clamor inside the moment the doors opened, able to finally set foot in the seemingly ancient relic. Really, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but how were they to know that? Rumors, and more than that, had been circulating for years, only adding to the legacy of the casino.

"This joint, opening it up like this," She rolled her eyes, placing the rag down on the table she had been working over.

"The competition, yeah, yeah. We're only open couple nights out of the week," Admittedly, it wasn't often that she saw him serious, but right now, there was a certain warning in his expression, a thousand miles from the joker, and suddenly showing more years than he had on him.

"I'm thinking of the Omertas, baby. You know the risky businesses those cats are involved in," She closed her eyes for moment, almost looking like a housewife, frustrated with her husband were it not for her less-than-conservative attire, the scar across her thigh, the fading bruises on her arms and torso. "And something tells me those White Glove freaks don't appreciate friendly competition, either."

"Nothing to do with the Tops, then?" She saw the slight grin, disrupting the uncharacteristic seriousness he was projecting.

"Baby, we're still in on this, right? Swank can take care of himself, that's for sure,"

"Seeing as you're gone so much of the time, yeah, I can see how that'd be true," Lola proceeded to dip the cloth in the Abraxo solution again, doing her best to signal the end of the conversation, although the smell of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air told her that he was not about to give up any time soon. She sighed a little, wringing the cloth out and leaning against the blackjack table, changing in an instant. She had heard the saying, never to mix business with pleasure, but had never set much store by it herself. "Ben-man ... you trust me when I say I've got my own way of dealing with things, right?" That was it, ever the seductive broad, the one with the curves, hips, lips. Even in the heat of battle she found time for it.

"I gotta say, doll," No matter what he was about to say, he was weakening, now. It always worked, she just had to get her fingers in just the _right_ place on the hem of her jeans. "You do have a way with words,"

"More than words," She grinned, easing at the button already. "Hell, Ben-man, I know tricks you ain't never even heard of. Could give those Gomorrah girls a run for their money," She was more than just aware of herself now, but wasn't she always in situations like this? She was never in her comfort zone when someone else was forcing her into doing something, causing her to bend to their will and sometimes in a literal sense. Seeing the look in his eye, the instantaneous hunger to know just what it was that she could do was more than satisfying; it let her know that she was in control, just as she loved to be, just as she would ensure she would be. Teasing him, not quite there yet, but leaving him on the edge, unsure of what she was going to do next ... he deserved that. He probably wouldn't complain, either.

"So, are we cashing out or what?" Too much for him to take, it seemed. Honestly, Lola had thought that he was a little more adventurous than to always want to keep their dealings to a mattress, and given their surroundings, there was at least _some_ opportunity to try something a little different. It didn't matter much, though. She was already pulling away from the blackjack table, over towards the cashier's office above which the bar remained as it always had been, untouched for years until Lola had dragged herself and her band of followers into the casino.

"Not today," She muttered, glancing over her shoulder at him as she headed towards the stairs. "I've got a better idea." The inevitable, of course; he could already see where she was going, and she could see that it had taken him by surprise. Warned, knowing what she had told him about there was no stopping her now. Lola swung her hips carefully, deliberately, with each step, leaving him dumbfounded as he watched her climb the stairs. She didn't think twice about it as she left him to follow her, stepping out of her jeans and lifting her shirt over her head in swift movements, a force of habit, something that she was more than used to doing by now.

"Not right as rain out of your comfort zone, pussycat?" She raised an eyebrow at him, regardless of how much truth what he said had in it. Sure, she had been spending more time down here as of late; she could barely even say why, and found it so much easier to say that she was trying to forget things when he found her slumped over the bar. Anyone would have expected that kind of thing from Cass ... in truth, Lola didn't know what kind of a draw the numbness had to it, but it was a suitable alternative to using chems, which she had made a silent pact with herself to steer clear of long ago.

"Now, why would you say a thing like that?" She grinned, lifting herself up onto the bar, before reaching around to unhook the fastening on her bra. The hunger, again, that look in his eye, and yet still he managed to look stunned as he watched her, doing his best to ease down his tie but so distracted, so enthralled by the show she was putting on it was glorious for her to watch. She was slow as she slid her legs open, still leaving that one, last item of clothing on. She did not yet know whether she would give him the joy of removing it, or just wait for him to move in close enough, let him think that he was going to have his way before doing it herself, snatching away the chance.

Hell, it wasn't even as though she was _trying_ to be sadistic, not that she though a little teasing sadistic, anyway. It was just that she finally felt as though she was allowed this, at the very least – it would just keep him interested if she kept doing this, rather than fading away from him, shrinking against a wall and refusing to act upon what she knew. Good girls weren't exactly interesting. She grinned over at Benny again, who seemed both rooted to the spot and ready to race forward; perfect.

"So are you going to get over here and fuck me, or what?" That seemed to be the cue he needed. Just like before, just like the first time, when he had taken the bait. Now, however, he knew that she would not kill him in his sleep. Harmless wasn't all that bad, so long as the notion didn't turn into pity; her little performance had just ensured that it would not. She almost allowed herself to slip when she watched as his hands fumbled with the buttons on his jacket, the buckle on his belt, the fastening on his pants. It didn't help at all that there she was, perched atop the bar and about to wrap her legs around him, daring him to do it, fingers playing at the hem of her panties now.

She knew when to make eye contact and when not to. She could tell when he was watching her. These things she knew, but she was not at all prepared for him when his hand brushed the inside of her left thigh. A small shudder, the knowledge that she should have been prepared for that, but had instead forgotten herself. Then there was that _grin_, the kind she had seen a couple of times before, but one she had imagined a great deal. It was as though he was letting her know that he knew what she was doing, but this time ... Lola gasped abruptly at the sensation. She bit down on her bottom lip, forcing herself _not_ to moan ... not yet, at least. It didn't matter how he worked his fingers, or how she wanted to scream out, she couldn't let him win again. Not like this.

Her hands worked their way up, underneath his unfastened white dress shirt; she knew he had more than one, but it was amusing to consider that he refused to wear anything else. No ... she didn't want to _harm_ him, exactly, digging her nails in, clawing and giving him a reason to call her 'pussycat', but he had had his chance to dominate. This was her tower, her bar, and in light of her recent victory, she wanted this to be her moment. He could lay her down on the mahogany surface all he wanted, place his tongue and his fingers wherever, but she would come out on top. Perhaps even in a literal sense.

"Keep it smooth, hey, baby?" Lola couldn't help but notice that the vigor of his own attacks increased the moment he said this, forcing her to raise an eyebrow, doing her best to abandon her slackened gaze as she looked up at him.

"Come on ... I told you I could be pretty wild," Even she was surprised by how breathy her voice was as she spoke. She had no real desire to calm it, either, just wanting him to get to it already. Here was _her _hunger, a need to forget herself for a moment, to change things. "Or so I've been told." That was sure to rile him a little. Taking a chance, of course, a gamble between whether he would just abandon her and walk away ... but no, now when she was close. He could feel it as well as she could, and hell, knowing him he would take it to mean that his constant use of her supposed nickname had caused her to interpret his opinion of her actions as wild. That made sense. She may as well have been running her hands down his back, then across his abs to stroke his ego rather than anything else.

Her small moans alone seemed to be affecting him enough; running the heels of her feet along the back of his thighs, as she well knew, was just adding insult to injury as it were. She knew this alone would get him going ... her other tricks were just consolation prizes that he had never quite gotten around to seeing proof of. It almost seemed a shame to change that ... the one thing that she could hold loftily over his head, forever teasing him and never quite giving.

She found herself throwing her head back before she even knew what she was doing, blonde hair tossed back, almost losing her balance but not quite – Benny's free hand was nestled securely in the small of her back, skin against skin, though not quite the same contact as they were about to have.

"C'mon," She breathed, pulling him in closer with her heels and forcing the hem of his underwear down – if that was not a message enough in itself then she did not know what would be. That was it ... she felt him withdraw, his hand instead tugging at her panties, now, and she complied, if only because she was ready. It was swift work, really, and she had her legs wrapped around him again as quickly as she could move, waiting for ...

Did it really matter who was in control as long as it felt like _this_? Somehow, she had gotten his back up, and now he was determined to prove that he was still worth a damn. Without even knowing what she had done behind his back, he was doing everything in his power to ensure that she still _wanted_ to return to him ... that there was no _need_ for her to stray like that ever again. That was exactly her problem, though; the same reason she had taken him upstairs to the bar, instead of straddling him on the bed this time, why she was still being insistent. She constantly wanted to keep things as interesting as possible, and what was more interesting than playing games? What was more interesting than either keeping the truth from him, or letting him have it and watching as he fell apart?

Maybe he sensed the cruelty that crossed her mind as his speed increased, his power ... she was so used to it hurting by now that the difference barely seemed notable, though she could still tell, if only slightly. She could still tell that he didn't particularly want to hurt her, only prove his worth to her, regardless of whether or not he had done so already. She had to have some reason or another for keeping him around; what he gave in the bedroom, or in this case, atop the bar, was plenty already.

She must have done something to cause it; she had no choice but to abide as he tilted her backwards, Lola not needing to guess where his lips were headed. It was certainly a good thing that they were large, not that she could ever have predicted what a liking he would take to them, but she considered that he had always had his eye on her chest whenever she had been in his company. She hadn't quite dismissed the reluctance in his expression, even though his hand had been steady while holding his pistol to her forehead. Her being your run of the mill, backwater male setting foot in the Mojave for the first time would have made his job much easier than having to capture and kill a buxom blonde. Instead he had been forced to admire her physique before slaughtering her.

Now, however, he was certainly making up for lost time. She found herself gasping once, twice, as he bit down, a little harder than she would have expected ... nothing she was not used to, though. And all the same, he was trusting at speed whilst her head almost hung from the other side of the bar, looking up at the ceiling that, like every wall, ever bit of furniture in the place, had not seen life for two hundred years. She was vaguely reminded of staring listlessly up at the ceiling fan in Doc Mitchell's house, a searing pain in her skull, but the pleasure dulled the memory; she had all she wanted, here.

"Good enough for you, baby?" His voice was muffled against her skin, but it was a reassuring sound. Not a proclamation that she was a poisonous bitch, a filthy whore, a traitor who deserved to die. Rather than respond, Lola let out a moan slightly louder than all of the others, halfway between a forced sound and an overwhelming expression of pleasure. Just like he had done so many times before, he had softened her up just enough to cause her to be susceptible to his attacks this time, brought her to the edge before withdrawing, and now ... there it was again, that torturous feeling of being so _damn_ close, and yet not quite there, not quite feeling what she wanted to feel. Everything else was screaming at her to let go, her flushed cheeks, tight chest, every inch of her skin on fire with every touch and yet not quite. That split second, an unforgettable feeling and yet one she would desperately want again within the minutes that followed, something she could not force.

Closing her eyes had become a customary motion for her, but not before she felt his fingers, not like before, this time, slipping downwards, gently at first, then more fiercely, between her legs; he knew that trick, too. He barely even had to touch before he sent her over the edge, neither of them expecting it to happen in that moment. Yes, sure she would let him continue until he was done, in the hopes that she might feel it again, but knowing it was futile. She wanted those few seconds to last that little bit longer, while she lost all control, and all feeling of who she was, instead suspending herself in the darkness, refusing to open her eyes. Somehow, keeping them closed, while being reminiscent of times she would rather forget as well as those she wanted to remember, allowed her to remain there for those few seconds she desired.

Yet ... he had won. She had gone first, yet again, and even though minutes – it must have been minutes, not any length of time shorter or longer – later he was done, too, he insisted on grasping at her skin, not melting away, exhausted, And still, she had kept those secrets to herself, some because they were better done with a party, some because he had just not given her the chance to show off. Even as he insisted, she pulled him in, close to her breasts, well aware of that ace in the hole ... ready to fire that shot and witness the fallout.

"I thought you should know," She breathed, face red, hair thrown back. "I fucked the general."


	17. For All The Times

**Chapter Seventeen – For All The Times**

She didn't look any different, pulling her underwear back on as he rifled through his jacket pocket, looking for the things he knew would momentarily distract him, make it look as though everything was still fine, still normal. If he went back to smoking and she went back to cleaning, or whatever else the mood caught her to do, then they had nothing more to discuss. Rest assured, he could get away with her if he so wanted to ... but he had questions. No doubt, she would refuse to answer them, but he'd be damned if he was going to give up so soon.

"I'm guessing that was a well kept secret, hey?" She raised an eyebrow, fastening her bra, blonde hair falling past her cheeks and shoulders as she tried to act as though she had barely heard him. He slipped the cigarette between his lips, simply waiting for a response. Of course, he had seen the momentary fissure, disguised by a normalcy that was perhaps too artificial. Goddamn broad ... he'd have to check if she'd been to Reno, but given the situation, it wouldn't have surprised him at all if she'd worked most angles of the trade.

"The NCR haven't bust down the door yet, have they?" She probably wouldn't let herself slip again.

"They might just do that when they find out." Another fissure, smaller than the last, and nearly unrecognizable for someone who didn't know what to look for. Lucky for him, then, that he had seen enough of her to know how to spot these cracks in her otherwise calm veneer.

"_If _they find out," Ah, but he had her worried about it all the same – he could feel his grin spreading more and more rapidly across his face, finally lighting up as it did so. Damn ... those little white sticks were heaven. "Who's to say they will? You know the problems it would cause?"

"The General having to step down from his post, leaving those cats like like little lost puppies, hey?" Her silence was almost enough, but she didn't know the half of it, not just yet. "Then there's the ladies and gents out there ... something tells me they'd be pretty hacked over that, right, pussycat?" He didn't even need his gun here, and this time, had had no need to look her in the eye whilst dealing the final blow; he had since come to accept that getting what _he_ wanted didn't have to involve the broad's death, so long as he had something he could hold over her head. And, in all of her anticipating do deal a heavy blow to him, and not the kind he would have liked, she had given him just that. "We could keep this sealed tight – you bet your ass that Oliver won't be letting it slip. But to do that, we've gotta deal." Now she was on to him, leaning determinedly against the bar and staring at him with a suspicion that he had never before seen in her, not even considering he had given her every reason in the world not to trust him. She didn't respond right away, either searching for a response or silently berating herself about her stupidity. The latter seemed viable, at least ... this was more than just an error in her judgment.

"Something to do with this place, no doubt." Amazing that someone able to grasp that so quickly couldn't keep her mouth shut when necessary.

"Ring-a-ding, baby. And don't go thinking that showing me your charlies can get you out of this one," He grinned, leaving his tie forgotten on a nearby table. It was more than he ever dreamed – something that had slipped away the moment she had returned from the Dam, if not sooner, and now, the thing he had worked for was almost within his grasp. He wanted to yell out, but contained himself ... maybe he'd keep her around, something pretty to hold onto his arm when he did his rounds in the casino. "Don't get me wrong, though, baby ... you've known from the start I ain't a fink. Seventy-five, a shot at being a real high-roller, that's all I'm asking. It's not like we don't know who the brains of this little operation is, hey?" That was definitely it, now – her eyes narrowed, tousled hair and lingerie glaring at him with a certain venom. Weaker than all the others, but disappointed in him. Something behind her eyes had already acknowledged that she had lost, that she no longer had the same degree of power over him as she had had before. She snatched up her shirt, but he knew that he would catch her wrist before she could leave.

"You're fucking _insufferable_, you know that? I spared you. More times than I can fucking count, I've spared you – it's almost like you _wanted_ your throat cut back at the Tops," No ... that wasn't true, and really, he had been quite relieved when he had actually woken up the next morning. Granted, not relieved enough to reconsider, stay back and hear her out. Not relieved enough to ever fully trust her, and then, once they had grown into a state of comfort, of having a less than normal, but still substantial relationship, to stop wanting what she had. It was never really enough. "I've done the hard part, Benny. The hacking, the killing, the risking _my_ fucking neck from one end of the Mojave to the other," She paused, on the brink of something, looking as though she was swaying between telling him and storming off upstairs. A sigh, more exasperation, anger, trying to calm herself than anything else. "You have no idea, you know that? Even before you fucked me over. How about six guys, one after the other, like the sound of that? Fucked up on as much junk as they can get in their bloodstream, surprised they could even get their dicks up," Her voice was quieter now, tremulous, a shadow of the woman he knew, but then ... he was only focusing on her voice to forget her words. "Then, for that to happen again ... but in the name of _this_? I could've blamed you for that, all along, hell, I should've."

He didn't bother grabbing her wrist as she made to leave, finally able to understand the name he had heard her murmur in her sleep. Rook sounded like the kind of name a raider would give himself, under the pretense that it made him sound like a suave man, a gambler. He'd forgotten the Wasteland, almost completely save for his dealings with the Legion, and yet he had been so unaware, so unwilling to acknowledge exactly what he knew had been going on from the start at that camp. She was strong, he had reassured himself with that, she would pick them all apart. He had seen the bruises and seen her wincing when they slept together, vomiting in the bathroom afterwards, drinking, and then doing it all over again.

Benny rolled his eyes, lifting up a section of the bar and passing through, taking a shot glass in one hand, and a bottle of scotch in the other. Fink or not, he couldn't let her get to him, now. He doubted she would let herself use her past as an excuse for too long, anyway – ironic that the first time he had heard her relate anything back to her past, it had been in bitterness, anger, venom. He didn't know who she was blaming right now, but it would be a while before he could head back upstairs, he was sure.

And still, he had not yet won. He might have felt safe in the knowledge of what he was holding over her, but he wasn't sure how safe he felt in actually _using_ it. The broad had a few things she would never be allowed to forget, though; the first was that the operation would never even have existed without him. She could bitch about doing the hard work all she liked, but the real challenge had been formulating the plan to begin with, and making sure it wasn't just a suicide mission. Working under House's radar ... now that had been one _hell_ of a chore. A sloppier son of a bitch would have gotten caught when the plan was still in its infancy.

"Damn it," He groaned, knocking back one shot and then another. He had always thought himself a lucky gasser, but how much of a loser did he have to be to net a broad like her? She'd come face to face with everything, from the Legion on up and then some. By anyone's standards, especially his, she should have been dead by now, not least because of the bullets to the skull; but then anyone else might have topped themselves too, when faced with what she had apparently been faced with.

Benny slammed the glass down on the table as though he was calling for another round, trying not to let her get to him. He'd get his seventy five percent because allowing the Mojave's NCR contingency to fold now would be a dangerous thing; both of them knew it. He'd be a snake and a cold-blooded bastard because it was what he knew, and it would tie things up quite nicely. But then, and he was more aware of it now than ever, that he would eventually have to deal with Lola.


	18. Hit The Road

**Author's Note:** So the deal is this. My computer sort of died before I had the chance to really sink my teeth into this chapter. Before that, I took an unofficial break from writing because I had exams. Which would have been plain sailing, but due to reasons I'd rather not delve into here and now, I was pretty much failing college at the time (I was attending on average one class per week, if that). So that huge pull to pass all my courses (I did) ended up causing a leave of absence I hadn't foreseen at all, followed by some computer issues caused by some rather … odd items in the browser history, shall we say.

Phew. Anyway, I'm resurrecting this. It's come to me that it's in serious need to a rewrite, something that may follow in future, but we'll see. In the time before the aforementioned trouble happened, I was really agonizing over how to end this saga. But I'm feeling strangely nostalgic and need to write more, so here we are … I couldn't just leave this loose end here – it's been that way for far too long, and I haven no intentions of allowing this to continue.

It feels odd that I should be ending here when it feels like I'm starting something instead. But this is the end (for now), indeed. At least until next time.

* * *

**Chapter 18 – Hit The Road**

She was acting rationally. That was all. She still wasn't sure how she had come to the conclusion that Benny wanted to kill her, but she didn't consider it to be paranoia. It wouldn't be the first time he had tried it. And now, after witnessing her survival, he knew to be more careful than ever.

So this was how she came to pack all the belongings she thought that she might need out on the road, nothing unnecessary, nothing that might weigh her down, just everything she had learned to use to her advantage.

With everyone asleep, everything dead but Vegas awake, the Lucky 38 not yet ready to open, now was the only time that seemed to make sense to her. She couldn't think of anything else to do but run. Of course, where she was going to run to, she had no idea … this was what she had done too many times before, however, walking, nomadic, propelled only by curiosity of what the next town would hold. Of what she could gain. Spurred on by the idea that there might just be someone hot on her heels, someone looking for her. The fear that her past might just catch up to her always had been the greatest motivation for Lola, but the altercation between herself and Benny back in Goodsprings should have ended all of that.

Guilt, too, forced her to move on at a fast pace. Now, she was back to fear again.

Queen of New Vegas, Queen of Hearts, a protector and perhaps a whore, she didn't need to acknowledge any of these things. Nobody had to. The idea that she would be missed did not sit well with her because she simply could not bring herself to believe in it. The idea that there would be what felt like a nation wanting to know where she was seemed impossible. Denying it made it that much easier to believe. She had never been adored, after all, but her skills had been well appreciated and if nothing else, there were a few of her flings she considered might feel a certain sense of loss once she found herself in the Mojave once again.

Novac would be the first place she would stop. Lola had only planned this out because it was a place where nobody would ever think to look for her. Nobody would expect her to hide herself away in a small town with no drink, no gambling, no attractions. Nobody would expect her to 'rough it' as it were, but she would, indeed, be roughing it, most likely for quite some time, and really, the prospect of this didn't seem too terrible. She had learned to do it, after all. But for now, her sights were set on the long journey south she had ahead of her, hours of walking, of avoiding places she had learned were dangerous. Hours of traveling, of aching feet, of hunger pains. This, or death. Thinking of it in this way, somehow, made it seem okay. Not that bad.

Where once, she might have provided Benny with an explanation as to everything, this time, it seemed like too much of a risk. Always, there had been the idea there that neither one truly trusted the other, and she had always sensed it, but ignored it. Maybe, once, the idea that he could kill her in her sleep had caused a certain thrill. None of this was so now. She had most likely ruined any chance they might have had of reconciliation, or … she didn't know what, not really. Never love. This was an impossible emotion for both of them. But cooperation, a kind of partnership. For so long, he had thrilled and excited her.

Perhaps him being something of a conquest did. A challenge. She loved a challenge.

Oliver had been a challenge. The General, he had been one hell of a challenge. At the end of her rope, thinking she had no other solution to force the NCR into surrender while maintaining a civil relationship, she had used the one tactic that had never failed her.

And it had taken quite some time for her to win him over.

Some were easier than others, of course. But for some reason, for some warped reason she still couldn't quite come to terms with, Benny had been … _special. _Her attacker. Her would-be killer. The man who shot her in the skull and left her to die in a shallow grave, all for the sake of something that now seemed almost trivial … and yet she was still drawn to him. He was a man she should hate, and maybe this was why she had felt the need to punish him just one last time, a small, painful act of revenge. Even though she was positive that this wasn't it.

And then, there was the idea that he hadn't wanted to prolong her suffering like all the others had. Almost all the others had dragged it out and let her _live_, and here she was, still dealing with those attacks. By comparison, Benny's had been a relief. Sure, she had felt fear and disappointment, and a hunger, a desire to do more. But there he was with the gun, the pistol, Maria, about to get it over with. A shot. That was all. No tugging at her hair or clawing at her skin or kicking her like a sick dog. Just a shot.

"Thank you," The whisper seemed natural. But she couldn't stay. She didn't want the kind of release death could bring. It wasn't over for her, not yet.

"No need for you to thank me, pussycat." Oh.

Lola didn't turn right away, but once she finally managed to do it, she saw the pistol in his hand, the face of Maria glinting, glaring up at her, reflecting the moonlight.

Oh.

"Benny," Her voice _trembled_. She didn't even have time to remark how odd this was. She didn't even consider that this was the first time she had referred to him as Benny, at least to his face. But he wasn't holding the gun up to her head, not just yet, even though she thought he might have done this by now. Both of them still bathed in light from The Strip, barely out of Freeside. Barely out. He must have been following her for quite some time. "It's going to end how it started, huh?"

"Now what would make you think that, doll?" She couldn't understand the game he was playing. She couldn't understand why he was edging closer to her, Maria still at his side, still looking at her. Before she could even register what she was doing, she had whipped out the pistol at her side, nothing so fancy by any means, but it would get the job done quite nicely.

"Well, why wouldn't you?" He was going to kill her here, she was almost convinced of it. Why else would he be armed? Why else would be be staring at her with _that _look? Something like longing behind it, but above all, he was triumphant. Relieved. He was about to get what he had wanted from the start. "It's almost over now. I've given you your excuse to do it. But not if I have my way."

Her finger didn't squeeze the trigger. And yet, he had still not raised his gun. She was damn close to it, though, ready to kill if she had to. She wouldn't be …

"Doll, it's not over. Not by any stretch." She wouldn't be the one to die this time.

She was used up. Her existence was pointless to him, now. He didn't need her, but really, she didn't need him. Maybe he only stepped back a pace because he could smell the alcohol on her breath, the combined booze she had been downing. It was a wonder she had been able to get dressed, let alone make it out this far.

Not once had she considered self-sabotage. That at last, what she had endured had gotten the best of her. She couldn't let it do that.

"Then why do you want me dead?"

The last word, obscured by a sound that most residents of the Mojave, of Vegas and Freeside and Camp McCarran had become used to. It was impossible for Benny to hear the last word that Lola yelled at him, because the gunshot rang out instead, cruel and resounding and merciless. Taker of lives. After that sound, echoing back and forth from invisible walls, the way a shout would echo down a canyon, silence. Nothingness. The rustle of clothing, footsteps in dry ground, red earth and dirt, of a weapon being holstered, a pack being carried. After the sound, there was silence.

On the dry earth, blood.

* * *

While I'd like to say 'that's it. That's all folks. It's finished. Over. The End' ... it's not. It's not over by a long shot. But this part of Lola's saga is over, for the time being.

At the start of this project, my only goal was to write a F!Courier X Benny fic. Maybe it was my slight crush on Matthew Perry (brought about by watching the endless re-runs of Friends that were on TV at the time) or the character of Benny, but I had to do it. It was an urge I hadn't been gripped by for a very, very long time: the last fanfiction I wrote was at least six years ago, I'm sure.

But like characters do, Lola took on a life of her own more than I could ever have imagined, and Lola being Lola, had to have things go her way. and that's something I'm glad for - because writing (and rereading) this has been a discovery for me, as well. I didn't even know what was coming most of the time, or if I had an idea, it would change dramatically while I was writing, and maybe, just maybe, this was what led to me getting stuck when it came time to end it. Not just because it's difficult to say goodbye, but also because I had so many ideas for the finale, and none of them ever came to light. Lola wasn't satisfied.

Since my last update, and writing this chapter, a lot has changed for me. Maybe this was reflected here, or maybe it wasn't. I don't know. But one thing's for sure: those unreliable narrators sure are fun to write. ;)

I'm sure most everyone who has read this has no doubt moved on by now, but if any of you are still around: thank you. If anyone is only just reading this: thank you, too. I just hope this ride has been as enjoyable for you as it has for me. And thank you for reviewing; for giving me an idea of my direction, of my strength and weaknesses. Thank you for your time and encouragement.


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